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pisupsala · 11 months

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 10 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 7.9k

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Chapter 10 - The Way You Look Tonight

You don’t remember how you got back home—in a flurry of tears, you stumbled down the stairs, grappling for your keys in your pocket. It's a sunny Monday morning when you wake up in your own bed. You are still fully dressed, only having kicked off your shoes. The scarf tied around your hair has nearly fallen out, pulling at the hair at the nape of your neck. You pull it out, groaning.

That’s one nasty hangover—your head is pounding, eyes are burning, and your stomach feels like it’s in knots. But that’s not the only reason you are feeling awful. You feel like your heart is broken.

Does Rooster really look down on you like that?

Fun enough to tease but not enough to actually respect.

Did he really not mean a single thing he said? A single touch? Is he truly so cruel that it was always just a means to an end, a way to pass the time?

If this is who he is, you’re better off knowing now. God forbid you spent even more time vying for his attention.

Soft footsteps pad over your floor, and weight sinks down on your mattress. Eva sits beside you on the bed, dressed in her nightgown, gently stroking your hair.

“Are you still alive?” She asks dryly.

You groan in response, burying your face into the pillow.

“I heard to come home last night, stumbling drunk.” Her voice is soft. “You puked your guts out, sobbed incoherently, and nearly fell over trying to get your shoes off.”

Embarrassed, you bury your face into your pillow.

“So I hope you don’t mind if I put you to bed in your clothes.” Eva continues, looking you over. “You are a mess, Anya. What happened?”

“I had a shitty day, and I drank too much,” You mumble. “And then my day got worse.”

“Can you talk about it?”

“Yes and no.” You sigh, turning around to face Eva. She looks concerned. “Have you… ever met anyone that didn’t turn out to be at all like who you thought they were?”

“I suppose.” She replies, waiting for you to continue.

“I just…” Your voice catches in your throat. Why are you getting so upset over this? “I just misjudged someone, you know? And I found out yesterday just how wrong I was.”

Your eyes are prickling with fresh tears.

“Is this about your mystery man?” Eva inquires carefully. You choke out a sob.

Stupid Rooster. You shouldn’t be crying over him. All this comes down to is one huge miscalculation on your part—you thought you could play along with his flirty little jokes, the teasing touches—but you bit off more than you could chew. You allowed it to become a little bit too real for yourself, hoping a little too much there was a core of truth to it all.

Eva’s hand is moving over your back in soothing patterns. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillow, more angry with yourself that you can’t seem to stop. There was nothing between you—it was all make-believe, and even then. It was innocent. He never kissed you.

You probably weren’t even worth that.

Eva slips into the bed behind you, hugging you firmly. Wrapping your hand around hers, you finally feel a bit calmer. You lay there together, in silence, while your tears finally stop. For a moment, it feels as if you’re back in school together: exams, what to wear to the dance, and boys made up the majority of your trouble—a simpler time. Then, you were so eager to grow up already and go into the world—now you wish you had savored those days a bit more.

It’s somewhat ironic you concede that Rooster is currently your biggest problem. It’s a war, you’re harboring a foreign fighter, but you’re in bed crying because he broke your heart.

“Hey, Anya?” Eva’s voice sounds muffled. You hum in reply.

“You reek of alcohol.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle.

Eva pulls away from you, pulling you with her by your arm. The sunlight is painful against your dry eyes. “Go wash.” She instructs you coolly.

Head in your hands, trying to make the world a little less loud and bright, you sit up. Eva is halfway out of the room, picking up your muddy boots from the floor, mumbling about needing to mop again.

“I’ll make us some coffee.” She says, voice unnecessarily loud. You groan. Eva just laughs.

“Ayna.” You finally look up; Eva is standing in the door opening, looking at you with a concerned look. “If there’s anything I can do for you…” She trails off.

You shake your head; eyes screwed shut. It’s like your brain is loosely banging around in your head. When you open your eyes, Eva just nods at you.

“Actually,” You start evasively. “I have a favor to ask.”

***

The way you shut down the moment you turned away from him, your voice flat—“But it’s nice to finally really meet you.”—Bradley knows he fucked up.

Now that he’s sobered up, he’s all too aware of the hypocrisy of accusing you of charging into things without thinking when he was the one that couldn’t stop himself from tearing into you just because you were there.

He would be lying to himself that he wasn’t annoyed by you at that moment and how easily brushed off the fact that you almost tipped off the roof. It happened so quickly; he hadn’t even found it in himself to yell out your name. And you just giggled.

Every toxic thought he bottled up in the last few weeks suddenly came pouring out—what tiny bits of yourself you revealed to him, he turned against you in his rage. In his terror. He’s going to die here.

Bradley doesn’t like to be alone because his thoughts consume him. And he can pretend that all it took was a bit of drinking, but really—something was going to give sooner or later.

He never told you, but being confined to the small room again was the first big blow to his morale. Every night he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, the walls closing in on him; Bradley keeps telling himself: soon it will be over.

It was hard to disguise how annoyed he was with you struggling through training. He knows he should be grateful you never gave up despite it, but it was just another thing on top of his growing discontent.

Then the mission failed.

And he exploded, attacking the only person who had been here with him since the beginning, the person that was responsible for keeping him alive in the first place.

If he hates being alone, he now singlehandedly made damn sure he would be alone.

He staggers from the bed, feeling worse than hell. The first thing he notices is the liquor bottle on the window ledge. He left it there last night—a little less than a quarter left. You both drank too much last night.

Bradley hates himself even more now. Getting drunk around beautiful girls rarely results in an argument for him—at least not with the girl.

Why did he pick a fight with you like that?

He can’t even bring himself to think about what will happen next. Will he even ever see you again?

Sinking into despair, Bradley grabs the bottle off the ledge despite the sun barely being up. The alcohol burns its way down as he downs the bottle before collapsing back into bed.

Maybe he’ll wake up back in England.

Hopefully, he’ll wake back up in Virginia Beach.

Time is a blur. Somewhere, far away, he hears someone coming up the stairs. For a moment, hope fills him: you came back. But the closer the footsteps come, he realizes, even in his still-drunken stupor, that it cannot be you. The gait is entirely different; the footfall is too heavy, too unsure to be you.

It’s probably for the better.

Bradley doesn’t want you to see him desperately drunk like this—nearing rock bottom, locked up in a small room.

The knocks sound on his door, followed by hurried footsteps. Bradley lifts his head. What was that? Who else knows he’s staying here?

You mentioned before that you weren’t in touch with your own commander in the resistance, but that also didn’t sound like a man coming up the stairs.

Sinking back against his pillow, Bradley closes his eyes again. He’s too tired to think. His head is swimming, his brain pounding against the sides of his skull. Phasing in and out of consciousness, Bradley has no idea how long it is before he sobers up enough the parse what happened.

He didn't imagine the footsteps, the knock on the door. Did he?

Slowly dragging his heavy body up, he staggers to the door. Cracking it open a fraction, he peers into the hallway. It’s dark, the light coming from the crack in the door streaming down the looming stairwell.

Bradley can’t help but think of you again—he never paid much mind to the servant stairs leading from this small room. But the way the darkness looms at the bottom, obscuring the exit, has something foreboding to it. Like anything could rise from the darkness at any moment.

He sighs heavily. It feels like he’s imprisoned, not just in the small room but also in his head. He can’t shake the thought of you and has nothing to distract him anymore. There’s not a book that he hasn’t read front to back multiple times, there’s no more alcohol, and the last of his sanity will probably dissolve if he plays another round of solitaire.

Just as he’s about the close the door, he notices the light reflecting up from the floor. Looking down, Bradley only now notices the tray on the floor. It’s packed with enough food to last him for over a day and a half. Bending over to pick it up—oh Jesus fuck, his head is killing him—he takes it back inside with him. There is a thermos flask, hopefully, filled with still-warm coffee.

A small piece of folded paper catches his eye as he picks it up, not even bothering with the coffee cups still on the table. Then, sitting down, he scrutinizes it: The Times crossword puzzle, 19th of June, 1937.

Despite everything, Bradley smiles. It’s more than he currently deserves, probably more than he ever deserved from you. And you are likely, rightfully furious with him. But this gives him hope, at least a little bit again, that you’re not giving up.

And so he shouldn’t either.

But in the days that follow, he doesn’t see you. Instead, he hears the footsteps run up, knock quickly, and hurriedly leave each morning. Every day there is another crossword puzzle—all from different years. Bradley deduces that you had been saving these from when English newspapers were still being sold here. And now you’re sharing them with him.

It is over a week until he catches sight of another living soul. When he opens his door after the hurried footsteps have left, still drying his hair from the early morning shower, he catches a movement in the corner of his eye, at the bottom of the stairs.

Bradley stills, hand still holding the towel against his hair. The door fully open, light streams down the stairs, reaching all the way down. And there’s a face, just peeking out from behind the banister at the bottom.

Bradley’s heart jumps—is that you? Did you wait for him? It still didn’t sound like you were coming up the stairs, but maybe you were masking your gait on purpose. The color of the hair matches yours so closely he almost calls out your name. For a moment he is elated, even if he only sees you from the top of the stairs.

But the reflections of glasses stop him short. You don’t wear glasses.

“Hello?” He ventures carefully.

A small yelp and a door slamming are his only reply.

That wasn’t your voice, either. Idly, Bradley wonders if you were so unwilling to interact with him, beyond sending crossword puzzles, that you recruited someone else into the resistance. You had been operating on your own after all. Would you be so rash?

Or are you truly so angry?

His heart clenches with sorrow.

***

It’s been over two weeks since you’ve fought with Rooster. Since then, you haven’t seen him—the first few days, you just really couldn’t help yourself, and after that, it became easier to just… not do it. Not think about it. Eva wasn’t complaining about doing you the favor of leaving the tray in front of Rooster’s door every day, which she was bound to do at some point.

It’s sometime past midnight after you get back from your evening shift; it’s late March and unseasonably warm. When Eva comes waltzing in, you’re quietly eating porridge in the kitchen—starving, and you don’t have anything else.

“Your favor has run out.” She announces, without preamble, taking a seat next to you.

Shit. Oh well.

“Well, thanks for doing it,” You smile innocently before returning to eating. “It helped me a ton.” You add between bites.

Eva seems discontent, sighing frustratedly. You pull up an eyebrow as you watch her squirm in her seat. Putting down your spoon a little louder than necessary, you lean back, looking at her sharply.

“What?” You ask, impatiently.

“I want to ask…” She hesitates. “But I don’t want to know.”

“So… ask, and I won’t answer?” You offer sarcastically. You’re looking forward to bed, the porridge heavy on your stomach (what a stupid idea to eat it this late at night), so playing some sort of paradox game is not high up your list of priorities now. Eva frowns at you.

“Who have you stashed up in those old servant quarters?”

You shrug in reply. Eva did say she didn’t want to know. Her frown turns more severe.

“Anything else?” You inquire non-comically.

“I think it’s your mystery man.” She accuses.

“That’s not a question.” You cut her off quickly, getting up from the table. This conversation is not happening. You grab your plate and rinse it under the tap—you’re about to escape when Eva’s next words stop you dead in your tracks.

“I saw him, you know?”

You blanch.

“What do you mean?” You keep your voice flat, like you’re only asking for an explanation, and fear hasn’t just gripped your heart.

“I got curious,” Eva shrugs, inspecting her nails. “So I waited at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Why would you do that when I explicitly told you-” You can barely keep the panic out of your voice. The more people know, the more leaks your operation is about the spring. Lying about something you have seen is harder than lying about something unconfirmed.

“Tell me one thing Anya.” Eva’s voice is stern, and you bristle as she cuts you off. “Is he German?”

“Why the actual fuck-” You screech before catching yourself and lowering your volume. No one needs to overhear this. “Why the actual fuck would I be helping the enemy?”

“I don’t pretend to understand what is going on with you these days.” Eva bites out. “This is all I wanted to ask.”

She pauses for a moment. “Thank you for not telling me more, but please don’t ask me to help again.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

And that’s how you find yourself in front of the hidden entrance to the servant quarters, shifting on your feet uncomfortably. You knew there would be a moment you’d have to face Rooster again. It crossed your mind to message Emil and tell him you can’t complete the mission. You have no idea how you would have done that, as Emil was usually the one to contact you, but you were close to just throwing the towel in the ring with this whole thing. Offload it to someone else who actually knows what they’re doing and doesn’t have a hopeless crush.

Although whatever excitement you had been feeling about seeing Rooster before is now just mostly apprehension. But if someone else came in, you could return to your role in the shadows, clean, falsify paperwork, and not stand out.

In the end, you decide you have to see this through. You’re not even sure how you would explain that you can’t go through with the mission. Sorry, I developed a crush, got drunk; the feelings probably aren’t mutual—you’re just embarrassed thinking about it.

The matter of the fact is, Rooster might have actually said it, but he’s far from the only one who’s thinking it—a schoolgirl playing at war. It doesn’t matter that you’ve done nothing to deserve that scorn, but you are young. In comparison to Emil, Jan, most of the other men in the resistance group, hell, even Rooster—they’re all older, they’re all men—you’re barely out of high school in their eyes, despite the fact you should have been near the end of your university degree now.

Scornfully, you think they would have trusted you if you had been a man.

Well, that’s one thing you cannot change, just like you cannot change the words Rooster said to you.

That’s okay, you assure yourself. It doesn’t matter. Just do what you’ve been assigned; once you get him out—and you will get him out—chances are, you’ll never see him again, which is probably better for everyone. So trust your gut, and do what you have to.

Taking a deep breath and squaring your shoulder, you slip through the door and up the stairs.

Bradley is out of his chair, where he had been working on a crossword puzzle, and on his way to the door the moment he hears your footsteps up the stairs. He knows it you by the way his heart is suddenly beating faster. He isn’t ashamed that he dreamt about hearing you walk up the stairs again in the last two weeks.

With bated breath, he waits for you to knock. Your knuckles' soft but decisive rap against the wood spurs him into action. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he opens the door.

He knows he shouldn’t be surprised, but he still feels crestfallen when he sees your face. It’s like when you first met, devoid of emotion. Your eyes are cold and only meet his for a second.

“Can I come in?” You ask politely. The heather grey dress with white piping you are wearing is neat; the high collar with a black bow almost physically creates a distance between you and him. A small pillbox hat is pinned against your carefully coiffed hair, complimented by a pair of white gloves. That dark green coat you always wear sits loosely over your shoulders.

It’s not that it doesn’t suit you; if anything, you look prettier than a picture. But Bradley always preferred you in a more relaxed state—your hair in a cute ponytail or even with those muddy pants on. You are adventurous and mischievous,s this is just a faded impression of you designed to create distance.

“Yeah, come in.” Bradley keeps his voice neutral as he steps aside. As you walk past, he smells your soap again. He cannot believe he would ever miss a simple smell like that, but you’ve turned his head upside down. You stop and turn in the middle of the room rather than sitting down—Bradley can’t help but let his eyes roam over you.

“Why don’t you sit down, Anya?” He offers, pulling the chair you always sit in.

“No, thank you, I won’t be long.” You reply impassively. “And -”

And Anna will do just fine.

You can’t get the words out of your mouth. It’s like your throat has seized up. Rooster is looking at you expectantly.

“Nevermind.” You dismiss the thought. Taking a breath, you force yourself to look Rooster in the eye. Don’t give him even more reason to doubt you.

“The Gestapo is scaling down whatever operation they had running in the city—probably because their focus is diverted east, where relentless sabotage is disrupting the trains,” You practiced this in the mirror the whole morning, not wanting to stumble over a single word. If you trust what you’re saying, he will too. “It’ll give us another window of opportunity to refresh your memory on the escape routes. You—we have to be ready when the time comes.”

“Yeah—uhm, I’m on board with that, obviously.” Bradley chuckles almost nervously, a little taken aback by how coolly professional you sound. He had gotten used to another, sweeter side of you. “When do we start? Today?” He asks eagerly.

“No,” Your voice is clipped. “I’m doing a final trial today; if I get the all-clear, we can start tomorrow.”

“Right.” Bradley shoves his hands in his pockets. He wants to ask you if you have any information about another opportunity to send a message. But your hard stare discourages him from asking.

You want to ask how Rooster is doing. His voice is gravelly like he hasn’t spoken a word out loud in weeks. Which, you realize with a pang of guilt, he probably hasn’t. The room is pristine as ever; even yesterday’s dishes from breakfast sit neatly washed on the tray.

Rooster looks weary. He looks lonely. A part of you wants to reach out to him, talk to him again, laugh with him again—but you don’t trust yourself not to cross that line again.

“Do you want some coffee?” You ask, breaking the heavy silence between you. “I’ll bring you some before you leave.”

“That would be great, thanks.” He replies, voice soft. You just nod in reply.

“Hey, Anya?” Bradley ventures carefully before you start walking to the door. For a second, a genuinely curious look passes your face as you take a deep breath—like there’s something you’re expecting. And then the coldness returns to you.

He should apologize to you; now you’re finally here. But it feels empty in the cold light of day. So maybe you’re right, and you should keep this strictly professional. “Thank you for those crossword puzzles.”

The hurt Bradley sees in your eyes as he utters those words cuts him like a knife.

“Of course.” You reply simply as you brush past him.

He really fucked that up, didn’t he?

***

Together, you fall back into an uneasy rhythm. You hate how for a moment, your heart soared thinking Rooster would apologize or explain, at least try to smooth over what happened. You try to kill that hope in you.

It turns out to be a blessing that you can’t talk to each other when walking down the street because you’re not even sure what you would talk about. Every conversation you and Rooster do have is stale, distant, and overly polite. It’s painful and awkward.

Bradley can’t help but think of the offhand comment he made weeks ago: so, we have a bad marriage?

You were so offended at the notion. But it inevitably came true—when your hand brushes against his, you both pull away like you’ve been burned. You hold on to his arm loosely, just for appearances. There is no smile on your face as you steer him past a maze of streets lined by statues on the buildings, hundreds of spires reaching into the sky, and over cobblestone paths.

You both go through the motions. Bradley concedes that it’s probably better—it’s, after all, a terrible idea to get romantically involved with your own handler. It brings emotions into play that obscure good decision-making.

But that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He is glad to be outside again, and he is glad you’re around again—but he doesn’t exactly feel less alone. You are a facsimile of yourself, and that’s impressive, considering Bradley doesn’t believe he’s seen you be yourself completely. There were flickers of your humor, determination, and stubbornness, but it always felt veiled.

It’s only the third time you’re outside together again on an unseasonably warm evening in early April. It’s dark already, despite not being late. Bradley noticed the sun sets early here, earlier than he’s used to in England. Ornate streetlights cast an orange glow on the narrow street flanked by houses on one side and a high wall on the other. He knows now this is the medieval part of the city, where a myriad of small side streets between dark high buildings intersect.

It’s the part of the city that’s the hardest to navigate, which is why it’s on route now. This is where to do it if you need to shake a tail.

Your gloved hand hangs loosely from his arm. You still dress a lot nicer than before, in neat dresses and pristine gloves—it still feels like you’re playing dress up. A particularly hurt part of you decided you should probably dress more like an adult, like someone that would belong on Rooster’s arm. Bitterly, you had hoped he’d say something, but of course, he hasn’t, like he hasn’t apologized either.

But of course, Bradley noticed. Like most women in the city, he noticed how you don’t wear nylons. He remembered it was a more than coveted item by girls in England, but you never mentioned it—never complained about it, rain or shine. He also notices the scuff mark on your neat patent leather shoe—that small imperfection feels like a sign to him that you are still you underneath all that fancy dress.

You’re walking down the street together at a leisurely pace. Despite the growing distance between you, you’ve never hurried him back—you are sympathetic to how lonely it must be to be essentially locked up in that small room. You feel guilty knowing you deprived Rooster of all human contact for two weeks—he looked so tired. Beaten down.

You should really apologize. But are reluctant to rock the delicate balance between the two of you. Rooster seems pretty at ease now—the outside has done him a lot of good.

Tonight is a nice evening, and you might as well both enjoy it, you concede.

You feel the tightness in your sternum almost before you hear the hurried footsteps. Someone is running up to you from behind.

Should you ignore it and just keep walking?

Or do you look back?

Bradley notices you’re suddenly holding your breath.

Trust your gut.

You glance behind you, and in the split second you look, you notice the dark figure closing in on you is holding something in his hand.

It’s a gun.

Rooster’s hand suddenly tightens around your upper arm, so he also sees it. Not a moment later, still breathless, he yanks you out of the trajectory of the dark figure with such force that both your feet leave the ground for a second. You crash backward into Rooster’s chest.

The breath you’ve barely taken gets knocked out of you. Rooster is pressed flat against the high wall, tucked away in the darkest spot between two street lights. He’s holding you tightly against him, arm around your waist.

It all seems over in a flash—the dark figure, breathing heavily from exertion, runs past you, not even looking at you. Then, as he runs past a street light, you see in a flash it’s a young man, a strange mix of terror and anger etched on his face.

You can feel Rooster’s chest move against you with every breath—and by god, you don’t want to think how warm and nice it feels—but your breath falls into sync with him.

Just as you think you should pull away and edge just a millimeter forward, a shot rings out. A yell. Immediately your head whips into the direction the man was running—the direction from which the cry came. Was he shot?

Rooster’s fingers tightly grab your chin as he jerks your head in the other direction.

“Don’t look for the impact,” His voice is a low whisper in your ear. “Always look for the source.”

His fingers a pressing into your skin painfully, but you don’t dare to move.

“The next bullet could be coming your way.” His breath is so warm against the shell of your ear, but there’s nothing sweet about what he’s saying.

You can’t help but whimper softly, hating how pathetic it sounds. Then, finally, Rooster releases his grip on our face as if he just now realizes he might be hurting you. But the sounds of boots, raining down mercilessly on the old cobblestones, suddenly kicks your brain into action again.

The man was being pursued—by police, by soldiers, or the Gestapo—it doesn’t matter, but you need to get out of there. You cannot be caught.

Rooster has the same idea and is practically dragging you towards an open gate in the high wall, the closest exit from the walled-in street. He doesn’t know that that gate leads to a garden—a big open space that is empty this time of evening. You’d be sitting ducks.

Trust your gut.

Cursing under your breath, you pry yourself free from his grip before glancing back for a second—Rooster looks angry again, hesitance in his eyes, but he has to trust you now.

It’s now or never.

Lacing your hand through his, you explode into a run across the street. The momentum of your sudden move forces Rooster forward, almost stumbling after you, as you determinedly pull his much larger form behind you with surprising strength.

Diagonally across from you, between the buildings, there is a small street so narrow two people can barely pass each other. It leads into the maze of old small, poorly lit back streets.

You hear voices screaming behind you: Stop! Halt!

More shots ring out.

A bullet embeds itself in the masonry somewhere above you, debris raining down on you both. A strange, strangled sound escapes your throat. If you think you’ve ever been scared before, being pursued and shot at is like nothing you’ve ever experienced.

The terror that courses through your body forces your legs forward, lungs burning. You yank Rooster from the left to the right, weaving a pattern through the dimly lit streets. The heels of your nice shoes loudly echo against the stone, and through the blood rushing in your ears, you can’t hear if anyone is still following you.

You are too scared to stop now.

When Rooster gently tugs you back, you finally dare to stop running. He pulls you into an alcove between two high pillars at the entrance of a building. He is breathing heavily, although he’s nowhere near as out of breath as you are. It’s dark, and you can no longer hear anyone else behind you.

You bend forward, resting one hand on your knee, the other pressing into your side, desperately trying to abate the sharp pain. Gently, completely opposite from how he grabbed your face before, Rooster’s large warm hands rest on your shoulder, pulling you upright again.

“Give your lungs space, Anya,” He whispers kindly as he rolls your shoulders back, pushing your chest forward. “You’ll catch your breath sooner.”

You cannot find the words to protest. But finally, your breath is evening out, and the pain in your side subsides.

It’s hard to say how long you ran—but your pursuers were determined. If it wasn’t for your exact knowledge of the streets, always slipping into a different alley, a different direction before they could aim, Bradley is pretty sure either of you would have ended up shot.

You know little about gun fights and dangerous situations, not knowing where to look, hand trembling as you aim—but you know damn well how to disappear.

Bradley feels another pang of guilt, as he felt so many lately. You didn’t choose this. You weren’t trained for this. Your commander should have never put you in this position.

He wasn’t ready to admit why that was making him so angry, why he blamed you. But the harsh truth is that he is powerless to protect you. Just like when you took that stumble, just like now, he couldn’t do anything to save you from the situation.

You are capable of taking care of yourself—that much you’ve made clear time and time again. But Bradley can’t help but feel protective of you, not just for his own sake, but the longer he is around you, the more he realizes he is not merely attracted to you.

It feels like something deeper, something he’s not ready to name.

He lets his hand glide down your upper arms before he lets you go; your breath is pretty much evened out. You don’t look at him, quietly smoothing out the skirt of your dress. Licking your dry lips, you try to ignore how much you’re feet are burning. The shoes are cute, with an elegant heel, but they suck for running.

“We should take the long way home,” You whisper hoarsely. “Just in case someone starts tailing us when we leave the Old City.”

“Lead the way.” Rooster has a small smile on his face as he offers up his arms. You try not to grimace as you start walking again. You are close to one of the main streets connecting to the boulevard along the river. Looping around to the next bridge over will give you ample time to spot if someone is following you.

However, when you walk onto the street, something tells you to turn left rather than right towards the river. Rooster covers your hand on his arms with his own, as if he’s keenly aware you just changed plans, and something is up.

From the corner of his eye, he sees how you suddenly bit your lip. The little wrinkle between your eyebrows deepens momentarily before you suddenly turn left. Secretly, Bradley is glad he can still read those little emotions on your face like part of you isn’t completely shielded from him.

The streets are empty, emptier than usual during the day, but plenty of people are still milling about. However, it’s not enough of a crowd to get lost in.

Every shopping window you pass, you glance at the reflection, hoping to see someone following you. But no dice.

Your brain is racing—how do you shake a tail that you’re not sure you have?

Starting at your reflection in a large window a little too long, an intrusive thought flashed through your head: what a handsome couple you are, dressed up for going out. Your hair is a little messy, maybe like you’ve kissed passionately.

Blinking heavily, you look away. Why did you start thinking about that?

But it might be a solution to your predicament.

Gently you nudge Rooster, smiling up at him. He looks surprised for a second before smiling back at you. You steer him to cross the street towards a large pink building with bright white detailing. As you get closer, soft jazz music plays from the open windows on the first floor.

Pushing through the heavy door, letting Rooster go first, you take a chance to look behind you. You lock eyes with a man crossing the street where you and Rooster crossed. His gait is determined like he’s in a hurry to catch up. The man is dressed casually—a little too casually for this bar. So why would he be hurrying toward you?

Your heart jumps in your throat, and you purposefully push the large wooden door close behind you, grabbing Rooster’s hand again and quickly leading him up the wide marble stairs. The music and voices are coming closer—at the top of the stairs, under a large chandelier, people mingle and laugh as they wait to be let into the bar.

You, however, have no time to wait in line. In the mess of people and through the loud chatter, you steer Rooster in the opposite direction, slipping through a pair of white double doors at the far end of the hall.

It’s dark. The restaurant closed hours ago—all staff is long gone. Finally, you slow down a bit. The chances of being caught by anyone here are pretty slim, but it would also look pretty strange to burst into a bar through a side door and out of breath from running.

You let go of Rooster’s hand to fix your hair gently. It will probably look messy no matter what, but it’ll have to do for now. Rooster is trailing behind you, looking around in awe.

Even in the dark, the white tablecloths look pristine. The faint light from the outside reflects from the chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, refracting it through the long room. High glass cases flank the polished wooden bar at the end of the room—most likely filled with cakes and sweet confections during the day—the surrounding walls are covered in intricate stucco of plants and cherubs.

Standing by a side door, skillfully painted to match the wall, you regard Rooster patiently.

It’s the first time he’s been somewhere that is not his small room in almost two months. Even in this dark, empty restaurant, he looks happier than you’ve seen him in weeks.

With a smile, you beckon him.

You can’t stay here and still have a tail to lose. As he comes to stand by you, you carefully pry the hidden door open, peeking in carefully. Cheerful jazz music and chatter flow into the empty restaurant—a waiter passes between the tables but doesn’t see you peeking out. As he turns, you quickly slip through the door, pulling Rooster with you.

For Bradley, it’s like stepping into a dream: the music, the people, the clinking of glasses. It’s all so familiar. He cannot keep the smile off his face—yes, you are on the run. But he’s going to enjoy this.

Gently, you nudge him forward, nodding toward an empty table with just a candle on it a few meters down to your left. Gladly, he takes the lead and weaves past couples on the dance floor to the small table.

When he pulls out your chair for you, acting every bit of the couple out on the town together, he feels his eyebrows nearly rise off his face as you suddenly hold two drinks.

Gracefully sitting down, you place the drinks on the table. Completely unbothered, you start unpinning the small elegant hat from your hair and pulling off your gloves. Fishing a small mirror out of your purse, you quickly look over your face—you still look slightly flushed from the running. Angling your mirror, you glance at the entrance of the bar. The line is still long, and you can’t see the man from the street. Good.

Rooster rests his hat on his knee as he slips off his jacket. It’s warm and busy, but it’s the best he’s felt in a long time. You tuck away your mirror and smile lightly at him as you grab your glass. Stopping midway through rolling up his sleeve, he leans into you, resting his hand on your knee.

“Anya, did you steal those drinks?” He whispers, voice barely audible over the music. He can’t believe he’s asking you this, but he also cannot quite believe what possessed you to do that. You just smile mischievously at him, although you shrug off his hand from your knee.

The confused look on Rooster’s face is adorable. How is he such a goody-two-shoes?

Moving your chair closer to his, you whisper back: “Now we can pretend the waiter just forgot he already sat us.” You take a sip from your glass. “Ew, I got plain soda water. What did you get?”

Rooster chuckles as he rolls up his other sleeve. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He sounds impressed.

You only shrug in response, leaning back into your chair. You only snuck in here once before because a friend was working as a waiter one summer and showed you and a few others the sneak route through the restaurant. You’ve never stolen a drink from another table; however, it seemed like a good idea right now.

But if Rooster wants to believe you make a habit of sneaking into bars, you’re not particularly keen on telling him otherwise. You enjoy the that he seems impressed by you. You should most likely be concerned about why you care so much about what he seems to think about you—like it’s of any real consequence.

But right now, you have one eye on the door, your feet hurt, and you could use something a little bit stronger than stupid plain soda water. So who cares that Rooster is being sweet to you? You get to enjoy that.

Rubbing the top of your foot against your calve, you try to relieve some of the burning sensations around the sole of your foot and toes. Rooster is sipping his drink, slowly, visibly enjoying being around people. He looks so relaxed, almost at home. You can’t stop your heart from fluttering lightly—sometimes, you get overcome by how handsome he is. He’s moving his head lightly to the rhythm of the music. A girl from a few tables down is eying him up.

This should not annoy you.

But it does.

Purposefully, you lean into Rooster, pressing your shoulder against his arm, softly whispering in his ear. Your knee is brushing against his under the table. You blink slowly as he turns to you with a small smile. Quickly, your eyes flash over to the girl—she’s averted her gaze, looking at the friends at her table rather than Rooster.

Good, you think arrogantly.

You only did that, of course, because had Rooster decided to make eyes at that pretty girl at the other table, it would have blown any cover you had.

Besides that, it also hardly matters that you only asked Rooster for his matches. Hardly romantic.

Turning in your seat, you can’t help but look at the door again. You still can’t be sure if that man followed you here or not—it’s hard to see through the mass of people. As the band starts a new song, a slow one this time, more people get up from the tables to flock to the dance floor between the tables. Your view of the entrance is now completely obscured. Stiffening in your seat, you wonder what you should do.

Rooster’s warm hand wraps around yours and lifts it from the table. Surprised, you look up. He’s already halfway out of his chair, that gorgeous grin on his face. He does not need to explain with words—he’s asking you to dance.

You hesitate, eyes wandering around the room. Almost every couple around you has gotten up and joined the crowded dance floor. Shit. At this point, it will look more suspicious if you don’t get up to dance.

That’s the reason you’re getting up; you lie to yourself.

That’s the reason you let Rooster pull you against him, one hand lightly resting on your waist.

That’s the reason you gingerly place your hand on his broad shoulder, your face uncomfortably close to his. His warm breath is fanning over your face.

All lies.

Rooster is gently leading you in the slow dance. For a moment, you cannot help to think again about if this is what it’s like to have his full attention on you, sweeping you off your feet. In a different life, had he taken you out dancing?

Those are dangerous thoughts. It’s all just make-believe.

And you would trust your gut if you could feel anything else but butterflies.

Rooster’s cheek brushes against yours, as he closes whatever little space there had been between you. The soft stubble that is forming after a long day tickles against your skin. He sighs so close to your ear; a shiver runs down your spine involuntarily.

“I’m sorry, Anya.” He murmurs, contrite.

You blink, fighting the urge to pull back from Rooster and look him in the face. Why is he apologizing now?

“I should have never said those things to you,” He continues. “I was angry; I was drunk—I really don’t have an excuse.”

You bite your lip nervously.

“I just…” He takes another breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” It almost sounds like a confession.

You pull yourself closer to him so you can whisper back. Rooster easily lets you manipulate him, bending closer to you.

“You sure have a funny way of showing it, Rooster.” Your reply only half-joking. His words cut you deeply.

“Forgive me, Anya,” He implores you softly. You can feel every breath that he takes. “Please.”

Part of you really wants to be difficult—drag everything out of him, make him explain exactly and in detail how wrong he was. You long to hear him say how impressed he is by you; have him stroke your ego a little bit more.

But his pleading voice in your ear sounds so sweet you can hardly deny him.

“I forgive you,” You sigh, almost in defeat. His hand tightens around your waist. Your hand has snaked from his shoulder to his neck. Under your palm, you feel his muscles and tendons move with every breath.

“But, Rooster?” You start with a slight smile, not wanting him to get off that easily. “You’re still a shit drunk.”

Rooster chuckles; you feel it more than you hear it.

Almost automatically, Bradley softly nuzzles your neck just because it feels like such a natural thing. The small sighs that escape you, wrapped around him like this, is sweeter than anything he could have dreamed of. He wants to drag this moment out for eternity, long enough before you probably come to your senses and move away from you as you should. But he doesn’t want you to.

Lightly his lips land on your jaw. He waits for your reaction, but you don’t move away. Torterously slowly, his lips move across your jaw in featherlight touches. Bradley is lazily drawing circles on your lower back, the lower part of the circle just skimming above your ass. Somewhere you should feel embarrassed about how you’re melting into him, but everything about him feels so intoxicating—your breath stocks when he reaches the corner of your mouth.

Finally, you turn your face to his. You hope you do not imagine the light rosy dusting on his cheeks. You really hope you’re not imagining the fondness in his eyes.

Bradley had thought about how kissable your lips were many times. But never before had they looked so inviting. Pupils blown, pulse quickened, mouth slightly open—he could have only dreamed you would look up at him with that love-drunk look, wanting him. You hum sweetly as he boldly presses a light kiss against the corner of your mouth, pulling only back a fraction like he’s waiting for you to bolt. You have to want this. You need to come to him.

His lips are so close to yours; you wait for him to finish what he started. He apologized, but words are cheap. You prefer action. Rooster has to prove to you he means it. He needs to come to you.

note | let me know what you thought <3

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

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warriorteam1924 · 6 months

Text

The little things

featuring John Deacon

Author note : Hello my beauties. I'm back for a tiny piece for halloween ^^ ! I’ve been super busy lately and I’m aware it’s not my best piece, but I hope some of you will enjoy it anyways. Thanks in advance to anyone who will be giving honest feedback, it’s always very appreciated. Also, I remind you English isn’t my mother tongue, apologies in advance for the mistakes.

Warnings : none really, just my awful writing

Summary : a nice moment for halloween for John

Words count : 950 words

Permanent taglist : @reavenedges-lies @thosequeenboys @orionis8689 (apologies people, i removed you from the list, since you don't interact.... i asked for communication....)

It was the end of October already and autumn had eventually settled down. It was about time, John thought. At the beginning of the month, he recalled being in the garden, wandering around his flowers, feeling the hot sun on his shoulders, feeling way too warm for the old man he was, merely wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

And of course, the end of October also meant Halloween. It was now a very common celebration, even in London now. Kids would dress up as celebrities or scary creatures and would knock on the neighborhood doors to trick or treat. When it came to adults, most of them were just picking up nice costumes, and would spend the evening together, giving them yet another opportunity to escape reality and have a party.

As for what would happen at the Deacon’s, the plan couldn’t be simpler. Husband and wife had agreed. John would be in charge of answering at the door and give kids candies they would be asking for, preventing them from having a severe spell put on them.

As his wife was comfy and sat in the living room, John was making sure all would be ready for the late afternoon and evening. His plan was to have a large bowl and put it next to the front door so that he wouldn’t have to take it with him whenever someone would knock on the door.

He was putting the content of the large bag in the bowl he had prepared when something caught his attention. He spotted a candy he hadn’t eaten for what seemed to be forever. As a kid about to do something stupid, he looked around, making sure his crime would remain unnoticed. He picked the candy, took the wrapping paper off and very delicately put it in his mouth.

It was absolutely delicious. Of course, his adult mind perfectly knew candies weren’t very healthy, but he made the thought go away with an imaginary gesture of the hand.

This candy he had put in his mouth was not the fanciest food he had ever eaten. But John suddenly realized despite how tiny this candy was, it was bringing him happiness at his very moment.

He had closed his eyes as he was letting the flavors of the candy invade his mouth and let his mind wander a bit on its own, a light genuine smile on his lips.

He started to think about all the little things in his life, like this candy, that was bringing him joy. He had been the bass player of Queen for something like two decades. He had traveled the world, seen so many things. He was married and was a proud father of six. One could say he had accomplished many things in his life.

But what about the little things, the things that wouldn’t appear on his Wikipedia page, or that only the persons closest to him would talk about?

John thought about these little things. How he liked to wrap himself in his covers at night to feel comfy and cozy, as he was hearing his wife’s sleepy breathing. How he liked to receive a random picture from his kids or grandkids, letting him know about their lives now they had left the familial nest. How he liked to be in his garden, merely enjoying nature: the trees and their leaves, the psithurism, the flowers and their wonderful smell, the birds and their colorful feathers, singing here and there.

He also thought about a few memories he had with members of his family, his wife and kids of course, but also his mother and his sister. Even his father. Yes, his dad had died when he was still very young, but he was now making sure to recall nice moments, fragments of time before whatever had decided to take him from his family’s loving arms.

He also thought about his dear friends, his former band members, but also the roadies. How they had been laughing together to let the pressure down in between two concerts.

His mind then let him think about his dear dog who had passed away not that long ago. Again, trying to stick to positivity, he recalled the zoomies, her face when she didn’t get the present she had expected for Christmas – probably blaming Santa Claus for that – but eventually liking the toy, the walks in the nearby park, the smiles and the ear scratches….

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. John realized he had finished the candy for a long time and had been daydreaming in the kitchen for a good ten minutes.

He took the large bowl of candies with him and went to the front door. He put it on a high table that was in the corridor and opened the door. He let the kids say the now usual “trick or treat” and took time to compliment them about their costume. He noticed one of them was dressed as a zombie from the series and game The Last of Us, making him wonder if any of his grandkids would have picked such a costume….

He gave the kids their candies, all of them politely thanking him and rushing to the next house. John smiled at the sight of them happily running with their bags getting filled with sweets.

He closed the door and thought about suggesting tea to his wife. He started to walk towards the living room but stopped after two steps. He randomly picked another candy from the bowl and smiled like the kids he had seen a few minutes before.

Yes, it was good to enjoy the little things….

#warriorteam1924 writes #the little things #2023 halloween from warriorteam1924 #queen #john deacon #john deacon fanfiction #john deacon fanfic #john deacon imagine #john deacon fiction #john deacon fic #i'm not sure i remember all the tags lol #well enjoy anyways #love you lovely people

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blackhakumen · 2 years

Text

Mini Fanfic #990: Elemental Mother's Day (Kingdom Hearts)

11:45 a.m. at the Streets of Twilight Town........

Lea: No way! You seriously did all of that!?

Aqua: (Giggles Softly and Nodded While Walking Next to Lea While Wearing Their Respective Mom Shirts) Yep~ Once Master Eraqus step out of the room and the coast was completely clear, Terra and I sneaked out and rode our way to the beach. We didn't really stay there for too long and got punished Immediately after that, but the experience was still fun to say the least. (Immediately Holds her Finger Up) And before you ask! It was DEFINITELY Terra's idea.

Lea: (Chuckles Lightly) Well, I'll be damned. (Casually Places Two Arms Behind the Back of his Head) Never would've our imagine you two as the rebellious types.

Aqua: Well, we were young and stupid once. But I would be lying if I say I didn't miss those simpler days.

Lea: (Nodded in Agreement) I feel your pain on that one, sister. Life was a lot less complicated when all you has to think about is what to do to pass the time. (Shrugs) But i guess we all have to move on from them eventually.

Aqua: That's right. (Smiles Softly) Still, I'm glad I get spend the present with people I care about. (Turns to Lea) That includes you too, Lea.

Lea: (Playfully Bows to Aqua with a Bright Smile on his Face) Why, I'm oh so honored that you include me, teach! (Smiles Turns into a Soft One) Cuz I think you're pretty cool too.

Aqua: (Heart Begins to Melt a Little) Really? Even when I can be a little bossy?

Lea: ('Scoffs') Please. I already got enough people in my life who are just as bossy as you are and I still love 'em. (Looks Down at his Fire Mom Shirt) Though, I kinda wish you didn't make us wear these shirts all day....

Aqua: Hey, I beat you in that game of Mario Party fair and square last night. Besides....(Happily Twirls Around a Little) Mother's Day is today!~ How else are we going to pay tribute to us being moms?

Lea: ('Psst') (Shrugs Again) I dunno. Treating ourselves to a spa day or something?

Aqua: (Smiles Brightly While Excitedly Clappingher Hands) Ooh, spas!~ I heard they're a wonderful experience.

Lea: Wait. You never gone to one before?

Aqua: Nope. I've always thought about going to one, but the chances never came to tuition. But since you brought it up......(Immediately Gives Kea an Excited, Pleading Look in her Face) Can we please go to the soa? Please, please, please!?~

Lea: (Chuckles Lightly) Relax, tech. We'll go. (Starts Stretching One of his Arms Up in the Air) I've been needing some R&R for a while now mysel-

'Buzzzzzzzzzz'

Lea: Hm?

Aqua: Must be my phone. (Takes Her Phone out of Her Pocket and Checks Out a Message that Was Sent to her) Aw~ Xion sent us a video gift.

Lea: (Eyes Widened a Bit) Really? What's the video called?

Aqua: Uhh..... (Looks Back at the Video in Question Before Turning Back to Lea) Question.....how much do you love Coco?

Lea: As......much as I love my kids and Isa...... (Slowly Raises an Eyebrow at Aqua) Whyyy?

Aqua: (Nervously Rubs the Back of her Head Back and Forth) Well ummm.......Do you love them as much as you love the movie's soundtrack? (Smiles Awkwardly at her Fellow Mom Friend)

Lea: (Immediately Puts on a Deadpinned Look on his Face) They made cover song of one of the songs I like, didn't they?

Aqua: Yes. B-But I'm sure it'll be worth the watch. Especially if it's made by one of our-

Lea: (Holds a Finger Up at Aqua, Inhales, and Takes One, Very Deep Breath) Alright. I'm ready when you are unfortunately.

Aqua: Oh! O-Okay then.

Aqua starts the video from her phone and it shows Xion making her way to the shot while holding guitar in her hands. As she happily waves hello at the camera that filming, she takes a sit in a nearby chair and begins her performance.

'Guitar String Strung'

Xion: Remember me~ Though I have to say goodbye. Remember me~ Don't let it make you cry. (Continues Singing on Screen)

Aqua: (Smiles Softly at the Video While Placing Her Hand on her Chest) I always seem to figure how lovely Xion's singing voice really was.

Lea: (Trying his Hardest Pull it Together) Y-Yeah. ('Sniff') My girl sounds like angel...('Sniff')

Aqua: (Turns to Lea With a Bit of Concern in her Face) Lea? Do you feel the need to cry right now?

Lea: (Quickly Turns Aqua) Wha? N-No! No. I'm good. Just.....(Wipe the Tears from his Eyes) Got misty eyes for second there is all.

Aqua: (Crosses her Arms) Are you sure that's the case?

Lea: Yeah. Positive. (Chuckles Lightly) I mean, I listened to this song like....a million times already. I can take another listen......Possibly......('Sniff') H-Hopefully............(Tears Finally Starts Streaming Down on his Face) ('Sniff') DAMNNIT!

Aqua: Oh...come here. (Hugs Lea Lovingly) You didn't have to try holding it in like that. It's okay.

Lea: ('Sniff') Is it really though? I mean., seriously....('Sniff') Of all the freaking songs Xion could've picked to sing for us....('Sniff') Why did it HAVE to be the saddest one of them allllllll!? (Continues Crying onto Aqua's Embrace)

Aqua: I know it's sad, but....you gotta admit, it is beautifully emotional....B-But hey! It's not all bad. At least it's better than them spending their entire allowance just to try and get you something.

Lea: Yeah...... ('Sniff') It is better.

Aqua: Exactly. And besides, now that you're in a crying state, you could always express your true feelings and.....tell me how wonderful I am.......

Lea; (Immediately Gives Aqua a Teary, Deadpinned Look on his Face) ......Really?

Aqua: Look, you've always do that kind of stuff whenever this happens! I can't help but to love it, you know?

Lea: ('Sniff') So that's what you want? Me pouring my emotions to how great you are.

Aqua: (Looks Down at the Other Side of the Ground Noooooooooo- (Quickly Turns to Lea With a Bitbof a Pleading Look in her Eyes) Please?

Lea: ('Groans in Defeat') Fiiine. Aqua, you're the greatest Blueberry Mom in the the universe and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. There! Happy?

Aqua: (Giggles Softly) Very. Now come on. (Throws the Dimensional Rings into the Groud, Causing it to Levitate and Expand into a Bigger Size, Showing Off Another Universe) Let's cheer you up with a day at the spa.

Lea: Yeah. ('Sniff') (Walks into the Ring With Aqua By his Side) Could really go for a steam room right about now.

Aqua: (Raises an Eyebrow in a Bit of Confusion) A stream room?

Lea: I'll show it to you when we get inside.

@keyenuta

@khtext

@ma-lemons

@26shann

@caleb13frede

@cyber-wildcat

#kingdom hearts #lea #kh axel #aqua #xion #coco #pure friendship #a bit of humor #emotional fluff in the end #mother's month #edited

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starstrucklighttimemachine · 3 months

Text

So, this is for an ex-friend. My therapist just said it would be nice to share it, something about helping me let go... Anyway, it's a sad attempt of poetry <3

The saddest thing about all this is that my door will still be open for you. For any of the others that had walked away from it. Stubborn is the human heart that denies itself a closure. Because under all that scarring, under all that crying, under all that hurting anger, a part of me is still yours, and a part of you is still mine.

Do you remember? Do you remember me when you hear a laugh similar at mine? Do you think of me when you see someone with my same hairstyle? Do you smile as you remember a joke I said once? Do you cry when you realize we are no longer the same? We are no longer mirrors of each other. We don't keep the same images, the same time, the same looks. Do you feel as if a part of you is missing? I do. Every time I believe I hear you laugh, every time I hear someone talk about a series you liked, every time my mother asks how you are.

Why did we change? Why did we grow up? I still remember our positions on that table on the corner, how we shared a salt container because of how awful the food was. How we would play and talk and laugh. We would have philosophical talks. We would discuss the human and divine. We had all the answers and, at the same time, none. We were something and nothing.

Do the walls remember us? Does that table still remember which place each girl took? Do you think they would remember how we laughed? How we cried? How we would stress about simple things?

When life was simpler, when we were still great and proud. When we were infinite, star dust playing with other stars. When we believed in everything and how we would, someday, be great, and together, we would be unstoppable and uncontrollable. When there were four of us. When we were alive. When you were here.

Maybe it's just the human experience to break something so pure and leave it tainted. Split. On the verge of dying but not giving the final blow.

How do I explain it? How do I say to you how much it hurts? How do I tell you how mad it made me when you beg for me to squeeze back into my old self even though I grew out of it? I did it anyway. Because I believed you. Because I loved you. Because I thought, if I squeeze back, everything would be the same. And we would laugh, and we would sit back on that corner table that was ours and share our glorious days again.

I was wrong. I was mistaken. I was cheated. I squeezed back on my sheded skin only to find that you didn't care if I did. I felt a joke. I felt stupid. I feel mad and uncontrollably taunted.

What's worse, I still wait. Sheded skin on hand, I still wait. My mind sits back on our corner table, and I still wait. I wait for the other three glorious girls that I once called sisters. The girls that grew up with me and I believed would stay until I part this world. My life line. My home.

My home is broken. There's nothing that I can do to fix it. I weep. I've lost something too, and it is not coming back. It's gone with the sea and its powerful waves. I long for it, even though deep down I know, it won't come back.

I write this thinking of you, thinking of me, thinking of her, and thinking of she. Thinking of how we are now a past thing. A "used to". A picture hidden on the back of a closet. A faint brush of the past. I think of times when we were interwoven, so closely that others could barely perceive one without the others.

I weep a lost. I cry a missing star. I crave a hint that you are still you, that you still see me every time you close your eyes. I pray that you still feel them, how they used to laugh, how they used to talk, how they used to walk. I don't hate you, no matter what you think, I am mad, that much I will admit.

But I still have space for you, if you ever need a place to stay. The rooms of my heart might have been left, might have been forgotten, but they do not close. I'm too fond of them to tear them apart. Others may say I'm stupid for denying myself the satisfaction of closing the door and forbidden entry again, but I believe there's a certain charm on how the light still hits every spot you used to touch.

I find lovely the way the place fills of cobwebs and dust takes it seat in the places you hang out. How the room is still filled with your scent but now is old and feels cold. I might be stupid, but that hasn't stopped me before.

If you hear this, if you see this, if the wind or the moon is so gentle as to let you know I wrote this for you, please just know, you still have a room in my heart. Sure, now it's cold and dusty and full of melancholic cobwebs. But it's yours. No one, but you will use it. No one, but you can close it.

#ex friends #plz dont read it #my therapist would be so proud

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cloudybarnes · 3 years

Text

Affection

Paring: bucky barnes x reader

Summary: your boyfriend isn’t very fond of pda. that means while the avengers are around, no kissing, no cuddling, and barely any touching. well, the avengers aren’t always at the compound. when they’re gone, bucky turns into the sweetest, most loving guy you’ve ever met, but why is it he can’t act like that around anyone else?

based off this request even though I changed it a little for plot :)

Word Count: 1.6k+

Warnings: fluff, soft bucky, Tony in their business a bit, cursing

Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰

“How awesome is this right now?” You grin as you jump onto the sofa cushion next to Bucky.

He chuckles, “I’d say it’s pretty damn awesome. We’ve got the compound to ourselves for the entire weekend.” His voice lowers as he leans closer to you.

You giggle and scoot yourself just a bit closer to Bucky. You sit up on your knees next to Bucky, sitting a little taller than him now. Smiling, you lean your face down to his, your lips hovering over his.

Bucky couldn’t wait any longer. He tilts his head back and presses his lips to yours. Your smile only grows bigger as you kiss him back.

Your body relaxes as you kiss him. You bring your hand to the side of his face and cup his cheek, gently trying to bring him closer to you.

Bucky wraps his metal arm around your waist, lifting you on to his lap. You giggle into his lips which makes Bucky pull back. He grins as he watches you giggle to yourself.

“What is it, doll?” Bucky chuckles.

You shake your head, “nothing, Buck. I’m just really happy to be with you, especially like this.”

Bucky raises a brow and smirks, “like this?”

You roll your eyes, “I mean I like being with you. I like kissing you and being close to you. It makes me really happy.” You gently tangle your fingers in his hair as you confess this.

Bucky softly smiles at you, and grabs your hand from his hair to place a kiss to the back of it. “You’re sweet on me. You make me really happy, darling; happier than I think I’ve ever been.”

You heart swells, and you rub your thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand that still holds yours. “Well, you make me happier than I’ve ever been. I can’t remember the last time my heart beat for someone the way it does you, Bucky.”

Bucky blushes, and tries to look away from you.

You gasp with a laugh, “Buck, no! Don’t hide your pretty face from me.”

You gently grasp his chin and turn his head to look at you. His cheeks are lightly rosy, and his smile is wide. “There’s my pretty boy.”

Bucky flushes again, and mumbles a shy, “stop, doll.”

You just giggle and plant a kiss to his warm cheeks.

Bucky stands up and pulls you with him. “You want to dance with me, doll?”

“Like you used to back in the day?”

Bucky grins, “exactly. FRIDAY, could you put on my playlist, please?”

FRIDAY responds, “sure. ‘songs to woo Y/n’ now playing.”

You giggle at the title of the playlist. Bucky is such a dork sometimes.

Bucky chuckles too as he places his hands on your waist. “You weren’t supposed to know the title of the playlist.”

“Aw, but it’s so cute. If these songs don’t woo me, I’m going to be really disappointed.” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck, swaying gently to the soft melody.

The two of you quiet down, just basking in the alone time you have. It isn’t often you two get to be like this. Bucky, isn’t a fan of pda. Doing things in public makes him uncomfortable, and you get that. With everything he’s been through, the last thing you want is to force him to kiss you in front of the other avengers.

Things are nice the way they are. Sure, Nat and Wanda think it’s strange he doesn’t hold your hand around them, or that he gets awkward when you try to kiss him in front of people, but you think that’s just how Bucky is. You like the Bucky the way he is, even if you secretly would like to not be limited to showing affection in private.

“What are you thinking about, doll?”

You pull your eyes from the ground and look at Bucky who has a small smile on his face. “Nothing, baby, don’t worry about it. I’m just happy right now is all.”

Bucky presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I’m happy too. I love you, Y/n.”

You grin, and gently pull on your arms so Bucky’s head lowers enough for you to give him a kiss. “I love you too, Buck.”

Just before the next song starts to play, an unexpected voice chimes through the compound.

“You know, I actually was starting to believe you were lying about being together since I never see you guys interact.” Tony says as he walks into the main room. The rest of the team, consisting of Nat, Wanda, Steve, Vision, Thor, and Bruce, follow behind him.

Bucky awkwardly clears his throat and steps away from you as well as stopping the music.

“Oh come on,” Nat smiles, “don’t stop on our account.”

You awkwardly chuckle, “What are you guys doing back so soon? I thought it was weekend thing.”

“Well it was,” Tony dramatically says as he sits on the couch, “until it ended up being a false alarm so they sent us back here. How they screwed it up enough to get us involved over a prank is beyond me.”

Steve steps closer to Bucky, “I heard the playlist you had on. It sure does bring back some memories.”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, things were so much simpler back then.”

“Sorry,” Tony interrupts, “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I am, so what’s up with you two.” He points between you and Bucky. “Cause I’ve noticed some things. I never see you kiss, you don’t hold hands, you don’t sit close to each other, you don’t hug, you don’t anything really.”

“Really, Tony?” Steve scolds, “You have to be all in their business like some teenager?”

Tony sticks his hands up in defense, “hey, don’t get angry at me. We were all thinking it.” He turns to Bucky and addresses him, “so is there any particular reason you guys try to hide your relationship, or what?”

Bucky clears his throat, “Well, we don’t hide anything. We’re just not that kind of couple.”

“What do you mean by that? You two mutually agreed you don’t want to show people your relationship?”

Bucky clears his throat, “I mean, it’s not like we’ve had a conversation about deliberately hiding it, it’s just natural for us.”

“So Y/n likes only being shown affection when you feel is a good time?”

Bucky growls, “no, Stark, it’s not like that.”

“Tony, I think that’s enough.” Steve commands, trying to keep everyone at ease.

“I’m not doing anything but asking questions. I think you two need to have a conversation, and now is the perfect time!” Tony suggests as he stares at you.

There’s no way he could know how you’ve been feeling. The only person you told was Nat and she would never tell anyone your secrets.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony, Y/n and I don’t nee-”

“Yeah, let’s talk.” You cut Bucky off. His wide eyes turn to you and his jaw hangs low.

“Um, yeah, we can do that.” He stammers.

You grab Bucky’s hand and pull him out of the living room to get to your bedroom. As you walk by, you see Tony giving you a thumbs up, and Nat behind him winking at you.

You shake your head and laugh to yourself a little.

Once in your room, you sit down on your bed, Bucky slowly following pursuit.

He sighs, “are we good? Cause I didn’t think we had anything to talk about. I mean, I know we haven’t exactly said we were going to keep things subtle in front of our friends, but-”

“Bucky,” you interrupt. He stops his rambling to look at you with wide, puppy eyes. “Breathe, baby. I just want to talk.”

Bucky nods, allowing you to keep talking.

“First, I want to know if there is a reason you don’t like for people to see us acting like a couple.”

Bucky sighs, “it’s not that I don’t want to show you off, it’s just that...” He’s quiet.

You can tell it’s taking a lot from him to express this to you, so you’re willing to be patient with him.

“I’m scared, Y/n.”

Your eyes soften as you grab one of Bucky’s hands. “Honey, what are you afraid of?”

He looks down, embarrassed, “you know I don’t really have a good record in, well, anything. My whole life is just one never-ending stream of unfortunate events. When I’m with you though, I feel really lucky. I know it’s sounds stupid and irrational, but I was just scared if people saw how happy I finally am, you would get taken from me, or I would mess things up and you’d be gone.”

Bucky sighs, and lifts his head to gauge your reaction. “I know it doesn’t excuse how I’ve been to you, how I must have made you feel, and I can’t apologize enough, doll. I’m so sorry that I didn’t make you feel as important to me as you are, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was ashamed of you. I promise I’m not. I love you so much, darling, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes start to water as he desperately squeezes onto your hand.

You sigh and comfortingly rub your thumb cross the back of his hand. “i’m not mad at you, or upset by what you did, Buck. I kind of had a feeling there was something wrong and a reason you didn’t like showing our relationship to others. I should have talked to you sooner and not let Tony get involved. I’m sorry for that, by the way. I feel bad how Tony put you on the spot like that.”

Bucky chuckles, “it’s not your fault, but thanks anyway.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I want people to see us and know we’re together.”

You giggle, “so you aren’t scared anymore?”

“I can’t let the fear of this being over in the future stop me from living happily in the present. I want to be with you all the time, not just when no one is around.”

You smile and stand up, pulling on Bucky’s hand so he stands as well. “Come on, let’s go let our friends know we’ve figured things out.”

Bucky chuckles and follows behind you, ready and willing to follow you anywhere.

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drowningbydegrees · 4 years

Text

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Read on AO3

He can’t remember the last time waking up was a remotely soothing experience. Geralt’s sleep muzzy mind has no other word for the body plastered against his front from shoulder to hip, the steady heartbeat against his palm where his hand is splayed out across someone’s chest. His nose is tucked against the nape of someone’s neck, and the scent is far too familiar to be jarring.

“Jaskier,” he rumbles quietly, his mouth miles ahead of the rest of him. The quiet, absent pleasure of waking up tangled with someone who smells sleepy and content and like they’re his leaves no room for reason. There’s no room for anything really, except to press a kiss to whatever patch of skin he can find, savoring the soft sigh it earns him.

Jaskier is… The night before rushes back to him, and Geralt almost jerks away, even though it would be entirely pointless to bother with that now. He cracks an eye open and is met with the disaster that Jaskier’s hair, mussed in the night by sleep, and by Geralt’s fingers buried in it before that. Even as worry begins to creep in, he sort of wants to do it again.

This isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. This probably isn’t even the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed. This is most definitely the first time they’ve done so with so little clothing between them, none to be exact. There’s only the blanket tucked around them both, warm and lovely and unexpectedly distressing.

Geralt isn’t sorry, per se. Jaskier’s chest rises and falls under Geralt’s palm in the slow rhythm of sleep. It’s the loveliest thing Geralt can remember waking up to, and therein lies the problem. An emotion fed only grows, and this unruly, sprawling affection is the worst offender. Stupidly, Geralt had thought getting this out of his system would quell it, but the longing reaches a fever pitch instead.

Jaskier is beautiful, all the more so for the way he shifts in his sleep, closing the gap Geralt has tried to put between them. Geralt could happily wake like this every day for the rest of his life, but it isn’t a fair thing to ask of someone who flits from one love to the next like a butterfly between flowers. He will not trap Jaskier in this just because he happens to be besotted. Somehow, the resolve not to try to keep this does nothing to ease the guilt welling up that he wants to in the first place.

Nothing Jaskier said the night before conveyed meaning beyond a playful desire to tumble into bed together. Moving the target now would only be cruel. He should be rolling out of bed, hastening them back to normal. He should be proving that this has done nothing to harm their friendship. It isn’t Jaskier’s fault, after all, the way Geralt wants to breathe him in and kiss him senseless and forget the rest of the world until the innkeeper boots them out.

“Geralt?” Jaskier startles the witcher from his worries, wriggling impossibly closer and laying a palm over his knuckles. “You okay?”

“Thinking,” Geralt replies vaguely.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Jaskier teases, still warm and lethargic with sleep. Geralt almost manages to take advantage of the levity of the moment and extricate himself, but before he can, Jaskier rolls over so they’re nearly nose to nose. His fingers cradle Geralt’s cheek and any attempt to escape now would just be graceless. “What about?”

Geralt doesn’t know how to answer, so he only hums noncommittally and hopes Jaskier will let it lie. Of course, Jaskier being Jaskier, does no such thing. He takes advantage of the change in positions to tangle his legs up with Geralt. “I can’t tell you to knock it off if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“We should get going.” Geralt tries once more to escape, frowning when Jaskier shows no sign of releasing him. It’s silly of course. Jaskier couldn’t hope to hold him here if Geralt was set on leaving. He just can’t actually make himself do it.

“Was it that bad a night?” It’s an easy opening, an invitation to stray back to their usual banter, but Geralt gets no further than a raised eyebrow before Jaskier is clasping a hand over the witcher’s mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that or I might have to smother you with a pillow and that’ll just be unfortunate for both of us.”

Right there, with Jaskier smiling at him, Geralt can almost believe they’re going to survive this. Almost, but almost still leaves a distance he cannot cross. As soon as Jaskier pulls his hand back from Geralt’s mouth, the witcher opens it. “They’re not going to let us sleep in forever.”

“They might if I convince them to let me play again this evening. We could move on tomorrow,” Jaskier ventures, but something in Geralt’s face must give him pause. “Oh do not look at me like that. The world isn’t going to end just because you stop to take a breath once in a while, Geralt.”

“That’s not…” Geralt starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are no words that convey the razor wire sensation of facing down the impermanence of Jaskier’s affections, of realizing how deeply his own feelings run far too late.

“Shh.” Geralt knew what to do with impulse, with Jaskier’s mouth crashing into his, with Jaskier’s hands scrabbling at him to shed his clothes. He doesn’t know what to do with the tender, intentional way Jaskier regards him this morning, lips pressing to the witcher’s brow and lingering afterwards. Does it mean something, or does Jaskier grant all his lovers this subdued, aimless devotion? Lust was so much simpler than this aching sort of affection that puts down roots even as Geralt tries to burn it away.

Geralt doesn’t precisely surrender, but he resigns himself to the lazy attention Jaskier is so determined to lavish on him. If he lets Jaskier turn him away later instead of now, there will be at least this one pleasant thing to remember. So he doesn’t complain at Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair, or the bard’s body pressed warmly to his. If every touch feels like a harbinger of their demise, it’s still hard to let go of.

He almost passes things off as okay, he thinks, until Jaskier kisses him. It’s a brief thing, immediately withdrawn. “Geralt?”

If realizing the hopeless situation he’s stumbled into was uncomfortable, the idea of talking about it is nothing short of torture.

“Well, you haven’t shoved me out of bed yet, so you’re not mad. Talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, his expression so openly concerned and affectionate, Geralt could scream.

“It’s no-” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shut him up with a theatrically sour look.

“I swear if you say nothing,” Jaskier threatens aimlessly, an easy smile on his lips, but underneath, Geralt can hear the way his anxious heart threatens to vibrate right out of his chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” Geralt admits because that, at least, is safe. It’s nothing about how he feels in relation to anything. It’s nothing about the want that simmers under the surface despite his guilt.

Jaskier’s brows scrunch in a way that would be endearing if the entire ordeal didn’t feel so fraught already. “I don’t think I follow. I mean, I know having a conversation isn’t your usual wheelhouse, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“Not. That.” Geralt bites the words out, tight and clipped while he gathers his frayed nerves enough to explain. “You’re not in the habit of keeping people. I don’t know what you want.”

For just a second, Jaskier looks like he’s been struck and Geralt wants desperately to take the whole thing back. But the bard’s expression smooths out and then twists up in a wry smile. “Of course I don’t. What would I even do? Drag someone else along on our travels?”

There’s a point Jaskier is making. It’s right there. He knows it is, but it eludes Geralt anyway. “You could have stayed somewhere if there was someone you wanted to stick around for.”

Jaskier laughs, just a giggle at first, and then so hard that even his efforts to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder do nothing to stifle it. “You are absolutely right. I could fall completely and utterly in love with someone and choose to stick around.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Geralt says flatly, staring at the far wall of their room. The urge to curl around Jaskier and forget the whole stupid conversation in strong, and maybe he’d have been better off doing that in the first place, but he doesn’t surrender to it.

“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I know, so these moments where you decide to be an absolute idiot happen to be hilarious,” Jaskier teases. The bard must take pity, because his palm slides to cradle Geralt’s jaw, and Jaskier puts himself right at eye level where the witcher can’t look away. “Don’t you realize? I fell in love with someone, and I chose to stick around. It happened ages ago.”

Geralt has long since given up on trying to anticipate what Jaskier will say to any given prompt, but that is… somehow not even on the same continent as anything he might have expected. “What?”

“You really are determined to make this as difficult and stressful for me as possible, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks. There’s a tightness around his eyes when he looks at Geralt, leaving the witcher with the awful realization that Jaskier must be flying as blind as he is. He’s probably as unsure of Geralt’s intent as Geralt is of his. And yet… “I chose you, you ridiculous man. I always choose you.”

That… that explains a lot, actually. Geralt swallows thickly as Jaskier’s nose bumps against his. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“Ah yes. ‘Hello my very dear emotionally… hampered witcher who will sometimes, on a very good day, admit that we are friends. Would it it complicate things overly much if I also happened to be completely, utterly in love with you?’” Jaskier huffs out a helpless, almost panicky sort of laugh. “Tell me Geralt, is there any time in the last few years where that would have gone well?”

Years? Now, confronted with the full force of it, Geralt isn’t sure how he even missed it last night, let alone for so long. Now that he knows it’s always been a bit painfully obvious. And much as he’d like to, he can’t really argue against Jaskier’s point that it probably wouldn’t have gone well to say so. “What changed?”

Jaskier sighs in that dramatic, overdone way he tends to when he’s being asked what he thinks is an exceedingly silly question. “You did.”

“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t comment and Jaskier doesn’t press for further conversation. It’s peaceful, this thing blossoming between them, now that his most immediate concerns have been silenced.

That Jaskier laid his heart on the line and asked for nothing back isn’t lost on Geralt though. The words catch and stick on his throat, so Geralt writes them into the tender way he traces the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his fingertips. He presses them against Jaskier’s lips, jaw, throat with lazy, lingering kisses.

“So tell me-” Jaskier starts, the words interrupted by a soft sigh as Geralt’s thumb skims the divot of his hip. It’s an unmistakably promising sound all by itself, even ignoring that delightful way Jaskier presses into the touch. He finishes his thought, but it’s unmistakably breathless. “What are you thinking now?”

The recognition that this isn’t some fluke settles warmly around him. This could be always. There are so few things a witcher really keeps, but for now he’s willing to entertain the notion that this might be one of them.

“I’m thinking…” Geralt mumbles against the side of Jaskier’s neck, delighting in the way the bard’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug. “That maybe we’ll leave tomorrow.”

#geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #gerlion #the witcher #my fic #They're both dumb and I love them #They may not have been remotely related to what I meant to write this month #But hey I posted stuff three days in a row and it's not even Nano month yet

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Dishonorable Discharge | dark!Bucky Barnes x sister!reader

please please please do not read or interact if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you in any way. i do not condone the topics or behaviors that i write about.

summary: you and your brother were always thick as thieves, even if you weren’t technically related. you weren’t ready for him to leave to go off to war, but you were even less prepared for the shell of him that would return.

warnings: noncon smut, sibling incest (I mean she’s adopted but still), breeding kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, mention of hypothetical underage activity?? idk how to tag that but everyone in this story is 18+!

word count: 3.6k

tagging @lestersglitterglue cause they asked real nice!

Even though you were adopted, people always said that you and Bucky had a family resemblance. It wasn't your respective appearances per se, but rather the way your eyes both sparkled. Your parents sometimes joked that the two of you were more brother and sister than most brothers and sisters were— and they were right: even with the age gap, often the two of you felt like twins. It was hard to imagine that your biological parents could've kept you and that you never would've known him... it felt like he had always been your brother, your best friend, your partner in crime; your Jamie.

You had been awful when he deployed. You'd sobbed and screamed and beat his chest with your weak little fists. You'd told him that if he left, you would hate him forever; that if he left, he might as well never come back.

Of course you regretted it once you got older and realized how stupid you were. But you were only fifteen then, and heartbroken, and too selfish to understand that there were things more important than the promises you'd made to each other as children. You were so afraid that he wouldn't come back and that you'd lose your only real friend in this world; and, like it often does, that fear turned to anger.

By the time you were seventeen, you finally stopped crying and tried to make a life for yourself. You tried to see it all as an opportunity: he'd always been the popular one, meaning you were stuck being known as "Bucky's little sister" rather than as your own person. Now you could just be you for once— as soon as you figured out who you were without him.

By nineteen, you had lost hope that he would return. You pretended to be at peace with that. You pretended not to hate yourself for pushing him away when you needed each other most. Silently, you thought of him every day; secretly, you went to church every night to pray for him.

It was the sort of neighborhood where you could leave your door unlocked, so you did. Still, people usually knocked first. You were wearing a nightgown you only wore around the house because it was much too short and small for you now, but with the hot weather, it was necessary. You hadn’t expected to hear the door open, so as you nervously peered out from the hall to the foyer, you were beyond surprised at what you saw.

The man in the doorway… he looked familiar. He was wearing your brother's uniform. But his eyes were different. That sparkle you shared was long gone. And without it, you weren't sure he was your brother anymore.

"Jamie?" you asked, unable to believe what you were seeing.

Recognition crossed his face like he was hearing the name of someone he used to know.

"Jamie," you called again, your voice breaking as you ran to him; you wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight enough to make up for all the lost time. "I thought I'd lost you," you sobbed, "oh god, Jamie, I thought you were—"

"Shhhh," he soothed, finally reciprocating the hug as one hand stroked the back of your head.

"Don't ever leave me again," you begged. "I can't lose you again."

"I won't go," he promised softly.

And just like that, you were the same little girl who'd clung to his legs and begged him to stay all those years ago, but this time you'd gotten what you always dreamed of. This time, he wasn’t going to leave.

“You still like your eggs basted?” you asked him with a toothy smile, doing your best to keep things light. You had so many questions for him but you wanted him to just feel at home first. You two had always told each other everything, so you figured it wouldn’t be long until he told you what he’d been through in the last several years.

When you turned to receive the answer to your question, though, you found him spaced out in his seat at the dining table, staring off into nothing. You could tell he was thinking about something just from the way his eyes were glazed over; you could tell he was thinking about something unpleasant from the way his fist was tightened.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently. Silence.

You left your place by the stove, crossing the kitchen and kneeling down so you were eye-level with him. Hesitantly, you reached out to brush your hand against his face. He was certainly older-looking, and stubble dusted his jaw where it met with where his hair had grown out. You wondered if it was as strange for him to see you and how much you’d aged as it was for you to see him like this.

“Jamie,” you whispered, “come back to me.”

Finally, as your hand cupped his cheek, he turned to look at you. Even with a face that was hard to recognize at times, the eyes that met yours were undoubtedly your brother’s. Darker, yes, and clearly tired from everything they’d seen, but as blue and perfect as always.

"When you call me that,” he spoke, eyes scanning your face, “it's like no time has passed at all. It's like I'm still the same boy I was the day I left."

You swallowed. "But you aren't, are you?"

He shook his head, just barely.

“Hey, listen to me,” you instructed, getting more serious and refusing to let him break the eye contact. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve seen, or what you’ve done. You’re my brother. You’re my best friend. You’re my whole world—”

You choked up a little, but kept going.

“—and I’m glad you’re home, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, smiling that crooked smirk that made your heart melt every time.

“You still want those eggs?”

He nodded a little.

“Basted?”

“Yeah, basted,” he agreed, turning back to the table as you stood up and returned to the stove.

“Your room’s the same as it was when you left,” you told him as you cracked the first egg into the hot pan. You were sort of nervous to bring up anything about that, but you thought he might find it comforting.

“I don’t think I’m ready to go in there yet,” he admitted.

“Stay in my room tonight, then. It’s almost the same as it was then, too…”

“I’m amazed that bed can still fit you; are you sure we’ll both be able to sleep on it?” he asked.

“Oh, I was gonna give you the bed and make myself a pallet on the floor!” you clarified, wondering how he ever thought the two of you could share a bed; you hadn’t since you were little little-- like, under ten-years-old little.

But when you turned to look at him again, he seemed genuinely disappointed. "Of course I can't let you sleep on the floor. You take the bed; I've got a lot of practice with sleeping on the ground anyhow."

That was the last thing you wanted, him reminded of what it was like out there.

"We'll share the bed," you announced. "If I take off all the plushies and decorative pillows, there might just be room for you."

"Woah woah woah," Bucky raised his arms as if to motion for you to slow down. "We can't just go evicting Mr. Hoppy! He's been a full-time resident of your bed for the past twenty years!"

You both laughed, and it was almost like old times.

"He'd happily move over for you, Jamie."

The two of you brushed your teeth side-by-side in silence; you waited for him to finish his shower while you turned down the sheets, scooping up everything decorative on the bed and tossing it into the chair in the corner.

You choked a little when he stepped into your room with only a towel around his waist, using another to rub his hair dry.

"Don't you have some pyjamas?" you asked awkwardly. "No matter— I actually have some of the pants you used to wear right here."

You pulled the checkered pants from your closet, and handed them to him as he nodded gratefully; you barely turned around fast enough to look away before he dropped his towel.

"Why do you have these in here anyways?" he asked as you tried to ignore the sounds of the fabric brushing over his bare skin.

"I wear them, sometimes," you admitted, feeling your face get a little warm, "when I miss you."

"Well, I'm here now," he hummed, wrapping his arms around you from the back and pulling you into a hug. You could feel the warmth of his chest and arms burning right through your silky shift. You almost wished you had worn something thicker; and yet, somehow, you also wished that there was no fabric in the way at all.

Slipping under the comforter together, you wondered if it was odd that he was cuddling up to you. You didn't mind it, since it was the most like the brother you remembered that he'd been all day, but some part of you was worried what people would think if they knew.

You brushed the thought aside. Nobody would know anyways.

He placed a kiss to the top of your head as you basked in how small it made you feel. "You smell the same as before, sissy."

You used to hate that nickname but now it was beyond welcome. It reminded you of simpler times.

"I hope that's a good thing," you replied.

"It's a wonderful thing. The day your handkerchief stopped smelling like you was the day I thought I would lose all hope," he recalled.

You remembered when he took it; he said he wanted something to remember you by, and you'd responded by telling him to just forget about you because obviously he never loved you at all.

"I was so cruel to you that day," you cringed. "I hate myself so much for that..."

"Hey, hey," he got your attention with a soft plea, guiding your chin until you were looking up at him with watery eyes. "You were a kid. I was, too. You acted out, it happens."

"But I said things that weren't true, Jamie— awful, terrible things…"

"I never believed them," he assured you with a smile.

"We promised to never lie to each other," you whimpered, "and I broke that promise."

He shook his head. "It's all in the past now. Just be honest with me from now on, and I'll keep every promise I made."

You remembered a pinky swear made up in the highest branches of a tree: a promise to never be apart. He'd broken that one, but maybe he wouldn't do it again. The thought made your heart flutter.

"Be honest," he instructed you again.

"Always," you agreed.

"Do you love me?" he asked, so quiet it was barely a whisper.

"O-of course," you answered quickly, stuttering not because of any lack of surety but simply from wondering how he could ever question that.

Slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, his thumb and forefinger still holding your chin. For a brief moment it felt believable as a familial kiss.

But then it didn't.

He began to move his mouth against yours, and instantly you pulled back, looking at him with what you figured must have been an expression of stunned confusion. "Jamie," you mumbled in disbelief.

"I missed you so much," he purred, seeming to ignore your reluctance. "Don't break my heart, sissy, I just want a kiss."

"I can't kiss you like that," you shook your head.

"Please? You have no idea how lonely I've been, how hard it was without you…"

You felt guilty for his pain, and you had always hated to deny him of anything. The absolute second that you gave him a hesitant nod, he dove right back in, kissing you deeper and harder than before. His tongue forced its way into your mouth but you couldn't pull back; his arm had somehow gotten to the back of your neck, holding you close to him.

You whimpered with confusion when you felt his other hand moving up your leg and slipping under your nightgown. He smiled against your lips when his fingertips brushed over your hips and he realized that you weren't wearing undergarments. You internally cursed yourself for it, even though it was normal not to wear anything underneath a gown like this. What was abnormal was what he was doing.

"You're so smooth, and soft," he murmured, just barely pulling back from the kiss, "and I know you want me so bad—"

Just as his hand started to move dangerously close to somewhere it was definitely not supposed to be, you reached down and stopped him by grabbing his forearm.

"D-don't," you managed to stammer out.

"Don't?" he repeated incredulously. "Well, why not?"

"It's wrong…" you explained weakly.

"Such a good little girl, just like always," he chuckled. "You haven't changed at all. Except, of course, this incredible body…"

It was much too easy for him to wriggle out of your grip, pulling out from your nightgown only to reach up and roughly grab your breasts through it. Your face was burning and your gut sank with fear— and yet, there was a paradoxical tingle of arousal burning between your legs.

"You've grown a lot while I was gone," Bucky noticed aloud, groaning softly as he felt you up. "Almost didn't recognize you when I stepped in. I saw those gorgeous legs of yours and thought, 'who's the fox and what's she doing in my house?' Of course, by the time I'd realized it was my kid sister, it was too late."

"It's not too late," you desperately assured, "you can stop now, and we won't tell anybody, and it'll be like nothing ever happened—"

You stopped as he started laughing lowly, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, I'm not coming back from this, don't you understand? You were all I thought about while I was gone. You're the only girl I ever loved."

His hips pressed forward and you gasped when you felt his erection pressing into your thigh. You bit down on your lip to keep it from quivering; for some reason, you didn't want him to know how scared you were.

"Feel that?" he asked, grinning when you nodded nervously. "That's how much I love you."

You stammered helplessly as he reached down between your legs again.

"Time to find out how much you love me," he purred, and you were frozen; paralyzed. Two of his thick fingers swiped through your folds, gathering the arousal they found there. "Oh, you love me quite a lot."

"I— I don't—"

"Take this thing off," he demanded suddenly, grabbing your nightgown. You shook your head. "I'm not gonna ask you again," he informed you sternly. "Take it off or I'm gonna rip it off'a you."

You shook your head again, tears flowing freely until you felt wet patches beside your face on your pillow.

Bucky growled and manhandled you onto your back, grabbing at your nightgown and pushing your arms out of the way when they reached up to cover your chest.

He tore through it like it was paper. "Look at you," he murmured in awe, "all grown up."

"James," you sobbed, "what are you doing?!"

"I'm taking care of you!" he responded, seemingly confused that you would even ask that. "You're my baby sister; I promised to always take care of you and I meant it."

"This isn't right," you whispered, partially to him but mostly to yourself.

"This is the only thing that's right," Bucky disagreed, leaning down a little to hover over you as he began to push his pants down.

You recoiled when you saw his cock; you hadn't seen one before, except in drawings. They hadn’t prepared you for this. His looked big, red at the tip like it was angry; leaking and throbbing like it was desperate.

"You a virgin, sissy?" he asked in a way that made it hard to tell if he was being genuine or mocking you.

You nodded; you'd promised to be honest, after all.

"You were saving yourself for me," he informed you, and before you could deny it, he continued, saying everything like it was obvious fact. "You knew you needed me. You knew you'd only be satisfied by your big brother's cock."

You shook your head as tears welled in your eyes, your protests muffled as he roughly kissed you again. You tried to push him away but he was like marble, hard and unyielding. You felt his sex sliding over yours and it made you feel dizzy and a little nauseous.

"You know how long I've dreamed of being inside you?" he asked darkly, his lips brushing against your ear. "You know how long I've wanted to get a taste of this perfect little cunt? I'll give you a hint: it was before I left."

He ignored your sobs of fear and cries of pain, and pushed his hips forward; he groaned as his cock forced your walls to part, and you felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

"Oh god," he moaned weakly when he bottomed out, "oh my fucking god… you feel so perfect, sissy. You feel so fucking good, I swear I could come right now. I could fill you up—" he pulled back out most of the way and shuddered— "right fucking now."

"N-no, Jamie," you sobbed, "you have to pull out, you can't come inside!"

"Why not?" he pouted, slamming into you so hard that you were forced to choke out your cry of pain. "I think you want it. I think I deserve it. I could get you pregnant and then you'd be mine forever."

"No!" you sobbed. "Please, you can't!"

"I can," he assured you coldly through his teeth, his arm wrapping around your neck to hold you steady as he fucked into you. "I can, little girl, and I'm gonna."

Tears streamed down your face, even as you let yourself admit that your brother's movements inside you did feel… intriguing, to say the least. He buried his face into your neck, fucking you deep but slow. You'd never felt so full before; you wrapped your legs around his hips before you could stop yourself.

"Fuck," he groaned, "you want me so damn bad, don't you? You always wanted me. I remember how you got so jealous when I lost it to Betsy Miller."

As sick as it was, you had; and even now, imagining him doing this with her made your stomach twist.

"You want me all to yourself, don't you, sissy?"

Shamefully, you nodded.

"Aw, it's okay," he soothed. "You've got me, sis. 'M never gonna leave ya. We're gonna be together forever, just like we always said."

That was all you'd ever wanted. Why did it sound so terrifying now?

"I can feel you squeezin' me, babydoll. I know you wanna come all over my cock," he taunted.

"N-no," you stumbled over your denial, but pleasure was searing through you faster than you could handle it.

"Beg me to fill up this little pussy," he instructed as his eyes got darker and a hand wrapped around your throat. "Beg or you don't get to breathe."

"Please," you moaned through your tears, "please, fill up my— my little pussy…"

"Yeah? You want my come?"

He started thrusting faster and you could feel the way your arousal had spread to coat both his thighs and yours; why was your body so responsive?

"Please, Jamie, I want your come," you repeated. "I need it…"

"I know you do," he snarled, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. "I know you do, baby, I know you need my come."

"Please…" you repeated one last time, the word coming out choked and weak as you felt your own orgasm starting to crash into you, your whole body tightening involuntarily.

"Fuck, I can feel you coming— 'm close, sissy, I'm not gonna last much— oh fuck—!"

His hips stuttered to a stop and you winced as you felt him flexing inside you, pumping his load into you for what felt like ages.

He collapsed on top of you with a sigh and a smile. "I wanted to last longer, even jerked off in the shower to try to take the edge off but… you just felt too good."

You were silent and still beneath him as he rambled, kissing away your tears between each word.

"I'll take better care of you next time, sis, don't worry. Wanna make you come with just my tongue," he announced excitedly. "But that'll wait until tomorrow. Tonight you just relax, and don't move too much so I can stay inside you. It's the only way I'm gonna be able to sleep."

He hugged you all night, drifting off even while you were wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

You were horrified at what your brother had become, and at what he had done to you. But that wasn't what kept you awake. No, you couldn't sleep because you were too busy trying to deny how much you had enjoyed it.

#tw incest #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky smut #dark!bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes non con

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Ignorance is Bliss

Pairing: Kageyama x reader, One-sided Atsumu x reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere Kageyama, NSFW, Toxic Relationship, Misogynistic Behavior and Thoughts, Mind Break, Implied Manipulation

Summary: Atsumu learns the hard way how true the saying ‘ignorance is bliss’ is and he wonders how much simpler life would have been if he had never gotten involved with you.

From what Atsumu knows of Kageyama Tobio from their high school tournament interactions, from what his cheerful orange-haired teammate tells him, and from their encounters in the professional circuit, he thinks he has a pretty clear picture of who the blue eyed setter is. So imagine his surprise when he meets you at a hangout Hinata has organized.

You’re not the only female at the event, with many other attendees choosing to bring their significant others, and Atsumu has a blast trying to pair up all the unfamiliar faces with past and present opponents and teammates based on appearances and personalities alone. He’s on a roll, but pauses when he gets to you.

There’s a wide grin spread across your face, your eyes excitedly shining as you vigorously nod at something Hinata is saying before you erupt into a boisterous, stomach busting laughter that echoes throughout the entire room. You’re wild, cheerful, fun, and if he didn’t know Bokuto was single, he’d automatically assume the two of you might be a couple with your similar radiant and untamed personalities.

Maybe Tanaka, the baldy from Karasuno? No, he’s married to that pretty manager he was always obsessed with since highschool.

Kuroo? The messy haired businessman seems like someone who wouldn’t mind a wild lover, but it seems unlikely from the way the cat-like man hasn’t even looked your way once the entire time.

Before he can think of another guess, he freezes at the sight of Kageyama walking to your side, intimately pressed against you as he moves some food from his plate to yours, a slight upward twitch of his lips and an unfamiliar softness in his eyes as he gazes at you.

No freaking way.

When Atsumu thinks of the type of woman Kageyama would date, he thinks of sweet, well-mannered girls, caring and nurturing motherly types who would be patient enough to deal with the admittedly emotionally and socially challenged athlete and take of their idiotic, but well-meaning boyfriend.

He doesn’t think of women like you. A woman loud enough to rival both Bokuto and Hinata. A woman as warm as the sun. A woman who can so easily ignore the stubborn setter’s barked commands for Hinata and her to quiet down and behave properly.

Atsumu doesn’t miss the scowl, the hint of disappointment in blue eyes when you ignore the dark-haired setter.

Looks like even though Kageyama’s “King of the Court” title hasn’t been used or brought up in years, some things never change. And Atsumu wonders how long the two of you will stay together before Kageyama’s need to be in complete control and authority destroys everything between the two of you.

Not long, he thinks, as he weasels his way into the conversation, intent on getting to know you better so that when you come crashing down from Kageyama’s tyrannical rule, he can be the one to catch you and show you a life, a relationship where you can truly be loved and appreciated for exactly who you are, a kindred wild spirit like himself.

Atsumu doesn’t see you much after that since both the Adlers and Jackals are incredibly busy with pro season, practicing, and traveling, but the two of you text back and forth constantly, hitting it off right away just as Atsumu knew you would. He’s quick to lunge for his phone with every ping, eyes constantly checking for new messages, chortling and smiling like a giddy fool in love with every text you send his way.

The conversations start off amazingly, no usual awkward small talk or niceties usually associated with getting to know someone, and Atsumu feels like he can truly be himself, unfiltered as he rants to you about something stupid Osamu did that annoyed him, sends a dumb inappropriate joke your way, shyly tells you about his hopes and dreams. And his heart soars as you match his sincerity and openness, revealing more and more of who you are to him, making it harder and harder for him not to fall in love with you.

But as time goes on, he swears you’re changing, and he’s not sure if it’s for the better.

When you see him at events, practice games, and real matches, your ear-splitting grin turns into tiny demure smiles, your bone-crushing bear hugs you greet him with become polite bows, your rowdy laughter that could rival Kuroo’s hyena howls become soft giggles hidden behind a hand you raise to cover your mouth.

Even your messages are changing and he glares at the properly punctuated and grammatically correct sentences you send him now, his crass jokes responded to with a boring and safe “haha” or completely ignored.

You’re different now and Atsumu hates it.

He hates the way Kageyama seems to proudly beam at your politer mannerisms. He hates what a perfect polished couple the two of you make. But mostly, he hates how he can feel you slipping further and further away from him.

It’s not a surprise when he receives the expensive, high-quality letter in the mail, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less as the blond setter stares down at the beautiful winding cursive scrawled across the card in front of him, grimacing at the picture perfect engagement photos Kageyama and you had taken together and chosen to incorporate in the wedding invitation.

The selfish child inside of him has half a mind to toss it all into the garbage, forget about it, forget about you. But then he remembers that fateful day and he knows he owes it to that raucous laughter and toothy grin he memorializes and reminisces on to suck it up and celebrate your big day, usher in the next chapter of your life while you end the portion of your story with him.

The wedding venue is disgustingly cookie cutter perfect and Atsumu internally retches at how boring and normal everything is, so unlike the woman who had intrigued him and who he thought he knew.

What happened to your dreams of eloping in a jaw dropping national park?

What happened to your disdain towards getting married in a church by a pastor?

He grimaces as he stiffly stalks down the aisle and plops down in a pew, waiting for the ceremony to start, waiting for this whole thing to be over, waiting to go home and forget any of this ever happened.

It’s easy to zone out as the background music plays, as the speaker drones on and on, and he only looks on in mild interest as the groomsmen and bridesmaids make their way down the aisle, some familiar faces walking past him. But nonchalance turns to something nauseating, something terrifying within Atsumu when he stands up with the rest of the guests as you make your way down the red carpet.

Is that really you?

Logically he knows it must be you, facial features, body, and every other physical attribute matching exactly what he remembers of you. But your eyes…

Had they always been so empty?

No. He knows they hadn’t and he briefly closes his eyes, remembering how vibrant, how fiery those two orbs used to be, feeling sick to his stomach when he opens his eyes and truly looks at you, looks at how vacant and lifeless your eyes are, looks at how perfectly trained and almost robotic your prim and proper steps are.

It’s like you’re nothing more than a living and breathing doll and a sinking suspicion begins to build in his gut as he scrutinizes the black-haired setter carefully watching you as you make your way towards him. And Atsumu thinks he might throw up when he can’t help but notice how similar the look Kageyama is giving you is to the look Kita had given his German Shepherd when the dog had obediently performed a trick for his master.

He knows it might be a crapshoot, knows it might be too late now that the ring around your fourth finger chains you to the blue-eyed setter, but regret and guilt for not noticing earlier and love for the woman he remembers drives him and he continuously messages you in earnest long after the wedding. He talks to you like nothing’s changed, hoping one of his awful jokes will elicit some type of reaction from you, praying that the photo he snaps of your favorite onigiri from Osamu’s restaurant sparks something in you, ignoring the painful sting he feels at your politely austere responses, not letting your emotionless replies deter him.

But it’s no good and he can’t help how off his game he is when they play a practice match against the Adlers, can’t help the way his temper is even shorter than normal, can’t help how he lets his emotions inhibit his skills every time he sees Kageyama across the net. And when he’s finally benched and told to cool his head, all he can think of is what awful things had Kageyama done to break you down so thoroughly, slumping down in his seat with a towel over his head, mind spinning with its wild imagination.

He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t notice the sound of a whistle marking the end of the match, doesn’t notice the slight commotion as the two teams bow to each other, doesn’t notice the figure making its way towards him. But he does notice the way another pair of shoes enters his field of vision and he lifts his head, body instantly tensing as blue eyes regard him.

“Come over for dinner tonight. She misses you.”

You missed him?

Hope blossoms in Atsumu’s chest and his heart is racing as he rings your doorbell, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. But he droops a bit at the impersonal cheery greeting you welcome him with as you beckon him in, graciously taking the flowers from him without even a second glance or spark in your eyes when you see the assortment he had painstakingly chosen, treating him like he’s just any visitor and not a close friend who you haven’t seen for months.

And suddenly Atsumu wonders if he really should have come, feeling lightheaded and disoriented as he watches you flutter around the kitchen, a pretty pink pristine apron wrapped around you as you hum to yourself as you slave over the stove, urging the two men to catch up while you cook dinner.

It all feels surreal, like a dream. Bad or good? He can’t decide. It’s jarring to see the woman who always insisted on ordering in greasy junk food, who did everything in her power to never step foot in the kitchen, who always went on and on about equal rights for men and women, become a perfect stay at home housewife, tending to the needs of her husband before hers, serving Kageyama and him so obediently, so submissively. And yet, there’s something oddly...enticing about the whole scene playing out in front of him as twisted as he knows it sounds and he feels disgust at himself when bitter pangs of jealousy strike him.

How can he be jealous of Kageyama? How can he even entertain the idea of being okay with this role you’ve been forced into? How can he be jealous when deep down he knows something’s not right? Knows that you would never have easily or willingly let yourself be molded into something so against everything you believed or thought? Knows that your spirit and mind have been thrashed and tweaked so much that you’re completely broken and mindless, a docile little puppet for Kageyama to completely control?

But he can’t deny the longing and awe he feels as you gracefully set the table, ladling plates with piping hot delicious food, charmingly smiling as both men compliment the meal, fawning and hovering over them as you make sure their cups and plates are always filled, shooing them over to the comfy living room as you prepare dessert and coffee for them and wash the dishes.

Atsumu’s throat goes dry when you literally kneel in front of both of them as you place the tray laden with mouth watering pastries you had just baked, coffee, milk, and sugar in front of both of them, eyes unable to look away from the way your neck naturally arches downwards in submission. And he almost whines when you stand up from your humble position on the floor.

But he’s jolted back to his senses at the brisk command Kageyama directs at you, disbelief and fury grounding him when you don’t hesitate to obediently kiss your husband good night and retire to your room as ordered after wishing Atsumu a pleasant evening

The door to your bedroom has barely closed before he’s lunging at Kageyama, fists bunched up in the front of his shirt.

“What the fuck did you to her?! She’s a grown woman. You can’t just order her around like a slave-”

He’s cut off as he’s abruptly shoved away and there’s a tense silence in the air as Kageyama scoffs and straightens out his shirt.

“She isn’t just any woman. She is my wife. All I did was bring out her true potential, which is why you are going to stop talking to her. I didn’t put all this work and effort into perfecting her for you to come and ruin all her progress. She isn’t the same woman you knew, Miya. She’s a married woman now. A woman married to me. So do us all a favor and forget about her.”

Panic builds in a frenzy inside the blonde setter’s chest. No no no. He can’t just give up so easily. He needs proof. He needs to help you.

“There’s no way she willingly just changed. What the fuck did you do?”

Bone chilling tension once again floods the room and Atsumu nervously shudders at the cruel smirk that spreads across Kageyama’s face.

“Does it matter? The results are all that matters. Isn’t that what you used to say when Kita-san used to talk about process? Plus, it didn’t seem like you minded all that much when my ‘slave’ was kneeling in front of you.”

Bile rises in Atsumu’s throat and he can’t think, can’t breathe as he’s forcefully shoved out the front door, unable to deny the harsh truth of Kageyama’s words, unable to stop imagining the horrors you must have gone through. The rest of the night is a blur as he somehow makes it back home, shaky hands washing his face, brushing his teeth, body shivering and trembling from something other than the cold as he curls up under his covers.

But safe in his own environment, his own home, his own bed, his mind wanders and he thinks back on the night. He thinks about how perfectly the back tie of your frilly apron accentuated the curve of your waist, hips, ass. He thinks about how nice it felt to be taken care of, to have everything being done for him as he sat back and relaxed. And his hand slips underneath his briefs as he thinks about how utterly angelic you looked on your knees in front of him, head and eyes demurely turned down, as he wonders if Kageyama has you trained just as well in the bedroom.

If he had simply asked, would you have crawled between his thighs?

He groans as his hand wraps around his cock, thumb playing with his tip as he imagines your tongue swirling around his head, spreading his pre-cum and your saliva everywhere as you greedily taste and lap at his length. And as he begins to stroke himself, he imagines it’s your throat taking him all the way in, he imagines your doey eyes peering up at him from underneath fluttering lashes, seeking approval, making sure you’re pleasuring your lover, your husband.

God, it’s so easy to imagine replacing Kageyama, imagine being your husband, imagine having you as his perfect slutwife and his back arches, eyes seeing only white and stars, body pulsating with pleasure as he cums harder than he’s ever had before at the thought of using your body as he pleases every night, at the thought of you eagerly serving him day in and day out, at the thought of fucking you raw, breeding you, impregnating you with his seed, letting everyone know exactly who you belong to with your swollen pregnant stomach and leaking tits as your bear his children.

But he chokes out a sob as thick white spurts splatter across his hand, a few teardrops leaking from the corner of his eyes as he buries his face in his pillow, self-loathing and disgust curling inside of him at his traitorous thoughts, a silent plea for forgiveness and a desperate prayer for you to at least be at peace echoing in his head as he cries himself to sleep.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kageyama #yandere kageyama x reader #kageyama x reader #atsumu x reader #tw: yandere #tw: manipulation

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starshine583 · 3 years

Text

New Girl on the Block (10)

(New update coming in and things are getting heated!!! I wonder how our lovely little group’s gonna handle it??)

Ch.1 / Ch.9 / Ch. 11

Chapter 10: Adrenaline Rush

Possible Schools:

Rosemary High

Skyline Academy

Angelwood Institute

Liberty High

Summerfield Academy

Clearwater Institute

A sigh passed through Adrien’s lips as he crossed out the last name on his list, matching it with the other failed attempts. He just didn’t understand. Why was it so hard to find Marinette’s school? All he needed to do was search for high schools in the area and ask the students at each school whether she attended or not. It seemed simple enough at the time, but now another week and a half has gone by, and he’s no closer to finding her than he was two weeks ago when he asked for her school name as Chat Noir.

Adrien set his pencil down and rubbed a hand over his face. He could have sworn she said ‘Rosemary’ last time they talked, but that blonde guy insisted that there weren’t any new students there. Maybe he just hadn’t met her yet? No, that didn’t make any sense. School had already started by then. Adrien assumed the guy would notice if he suddenly had a new classmate.

Ugh. If only he could visit her again.. Between patrol with his lady, akuma attacks, homework, and photoshoots, going out as Chat Noir to see Marinette was nearly impossible. He really needed to have a talk with Nathalie about getting more free time.

“Alya, Marinette is killing me!”

Adrien glanced up from his paper- That’s right, he’s supposed to be working on his own school right now -just in time to see Lila wiping fake tears from her eyes as she walked into the classroom. Although they still had a good five or ten minutes before class started, she was the only who wasn’t currently seated at her desk, and judging by her greeting, Adrien was going to assume that she entered last on purpose.

“What!” Alya gasped, standing up from her desk to meet Lila halfway. “What did she do now?”

Lila sniffed and accepted the comforting hug that Alya offered. “She’s been sending me awful messages all week! Telling me she hates me and insulting me and that I should’ve just stayed in Italy where I belonged.”

Adrien shifted in his seat to hear the conversation better, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Another scheme to slander Marinette’s good name.. Why did Lila still feel the need to lie about her? The ravenette was gone, completely transferred to another school, too far to even breath about Lila’s fabrications. There was no reason to turn their classmates further against her. (if that was even possible at this point)

“She told you what?!” Alya blanched, pulling back to grab Lila’s shoulders. “I can’t believe her! wasn’t sabotaging the forms you needed to be class president enough? Why can’t she leave you alone!”

Adrien resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Now that lie had a reason to it. He knew first hand how thick those stacks of forms can be since he’s helped Marinette carry them a few times, and Lila was obviously too lazy or too unqualified (or both) to sift through all of that mess by herself. What Adrien didn’t understand about the lie, though, was why she had to drag Marinette into it. Again. Why not lie about feeling unwell? Or simply ask for time to adjust to the role that had practically been dumped onto her? Any of those excuses would not only have been easier to say, as they didn’t involve anyone but herself, but they probably would have been accepted just as wholly. So why? It was as though Marinette became a crutch for Lila, which he supposed made sense. Building onto a widely accepted lie would be much simpler than creating a million small lies, but it certainly came with a risk. For example, if Adrien were to, say, kick that crutch right out from under her, she would probably flounder around on the floor with no way to get back up again.

This left Adrien with another important question: How was he going to do it? So far, his friends have been sticking to her like glue and taking in her words like they were given directly from the Bible. On top of that, Alya seems to have become Lila’s official guard dog. How was he supposed to work around that? Adrien couldn’t confront the brunette publicly, because Marinette was proof that that never ended well, and confronting Lila privately didn’t help either, because she would only blow him off again. No, he needed to focus on outing her to his classmates directly, but he also needed to be subtle about it. Which meant..

Which meant he’d have to beat her at her own game.

“That’s crazy!” Adrien piped up, plastering on a surprised and disgusted expression. “Can I see the texts?”

Lila and Alya turned to him, both equally shocked by his comment. He normally kept to himself during conversations about Marinette.

“Oh..” Lila blinked, gathering her thoughts. “I mean, of course! It’s just that.. they’re quite personal, you know.. She said some things that were close to home..”

“We completely understand.” Alya assured.

“Completely,” Adrien agreed, “which is why I want to see how bad it is. Those texts can be considered harassment if you don’t feel safe.”

Alya frowned at him, but a spark arose in Lila’s eyes, one that was no doubt fueled by the thought of getting Marinette into trouble with the law. Adrien would never understand the hatred that Lila harbored for the ravenette, but he definitely knew how to use it to his advantage.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want her to get in trouble!” The brunette said with feigned concern. “But.. if you think it will help..”

She made a show of tentatively pulling out her phone and handing it to Adrien. He wasted no time snatching it from her hands and pulling up the texting app. If she was giving him the phone, she most likely had a series of fake texts to back up her story. (and they would be fake. Marinette was too nice to outwardly insult or bully others. Besides, she wouldn’t have the time even if she wanted to, what with her new school, homework, and fashion designs that she needed to tend to.)

Sure enough, he found messages upon messages of insults under the contact name “Marinette”. Things like “You’re only a model because of Gabriel’s pity and charity programs”, “You made our school’s reputation so pathetic that I had to leave”, and “They’ll find out soon that you’re too stupid to be a decent class rep.” were only the tip of the iceberg. Adrien noted the fact that there weren’t any comments about Lila’s looks specifically- she probably couldn’t think of any insults like that herself, since she was obviously so fashionable -but other than, the texts appeared to be authentic.

That is, except for the phone number.

Adrien slid further into his desk and pulled out his own phone to unlock it. A swift comparison between the two contacts proved not only that they had different phone numbers for Marinette, but that the phone number used for the harassing texts was actually the phone number that Adrien had for Lila. She must have texted herself, then deleted the doubles to make it look like a regular conversation between two people. Adrien had to hand it to her, it was a clever set-up.

But not clever enough.

“Wow, this is awful.” Adrien declared, ensuring that both girls along with a few of their other classmates could hear him. “I’m going to text Marinette about this right now. Do you mind if I copy the number from your phone to text her, though? Some of my contacts got deleted a while back.”

Lila’s eyes widened, and panic briefly flickered across her features.

“O-Oh, um- you really don’t have to do that-” She tried to say as she reached for her phone.

Adrien pulled it back up with a smile. “Oh, but I want to! We can’t let Marinette get away with things like this.”

“Yeah, he’s right!” Alya eagerly agreed. “Let him talk to her. That should really pack a punch for Marinette.”

Although the comment was a bit odd, Adrien nodded along, because as long as Alya was on his side, this plan should work perfectly.

“I’m typing in the number to call right now.” He announced, quickly punching in each digit. His only regret in that moment was that he couldn’t see Lila’s expression as he got closer to ‘accidentally’ outing her. However, the sheer panic in her voice was still enough to make his smile widen to a grin.

“No, you can’t!” She nearly shrieked, lunging over Adrien for her phone. If the class’ eyes weren’t on them before, they definitely were now.

“Don’t worry, Lila.” Adrien said innocently as he pressed ‘call’ on the number. “I won’t tell her that you gave me her number.”

As expected, Lila’s phone immediately began to ring. He watched as the blood drained from her features, and she scrambled to turn off the device before it could finish the first ring. It was a decent move, in his opinion, but that didn’t stop the class from staring at her with a mix of surprise, suspicion, and curiosity.

“What was that?” Alya asked, leaning forward to help Lila get off of Adrien, “Was your phone ringing?”

“No, no! It was- uhm -” Lila let out a nervous, little laugh. It’d been so long since she had to fight for her lies to stick that she must have forgotten how to lie on the spot. What a shame.

“That was just a small sound my phone makes when it turns off.” She blurted out. “I must have forgotten to charge it last night.”

Adrien pressed “end” on his call- because obviously he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Lila’s phone off -and glanced around the classroom to gauge their reactions. Those closest to the conversation were warily watching the scene unfold with furrowed eyebrows, doubt clear on their expressions. The farther ones, however, nodded along with what Lila was saying. They probably hadn’t heard most of the conversation beforehand and therefore had no reason to question her.

“Oh,” Alya said, accepting the bullcrap answer as always, “that’s not good. Do you want to use my charger in case you need your phone later?”

Lila offered a sweet smile, stray bits of her confidence floating back to her due to Alya’s reassurance. “Ah, I’m fine. I wouldn’t want to trouble you or anythi-”

A soft rumbling shook the ground, causing the Italian girl to trail off. Adrien turned to the window, his breath catching in his throat as his thumb instinctively brushed over his ring. Was now really the best time?

In the distance, a cloud of dust was rising into the air. He’d seen enough- and done enough -to know that only the mass destruction of buildings could create such a cloud, and the mayor hadn’t informed them of any pre-planned constructions.

“Yes!” Alya cheered, leaping down the classroom steps. Leave it to her to be the only one excited about another akuma attack. “Finally! It feels like we haven’t had an akuma in weeks!”

“Alya, wait!” Nino called after her. He always hated her little escapades.

“Don’t worry,” Adrien said as he stood up, “I’ll take care of her.”

Right after I take care of the akuma.

~~~~~~~~

The little hands of Felix’s black wrist watch ticked away well past 12:30, reminding him of his frustrating failure to set a timer for their lunch period. How could he have forgotten? The notion had to be ingrained into his muscle memory by now. Get up, go to school, burn through the first few classes, set a timer to not waste time, and go to lunch. How did it slip his mind?

“I can’t believe I didn’t ask this sooner,” Allegra remarked as they exited the café, “but what happened to your guys’ faces? I’m pretty sure they weren’t that red before.”

Felix glanced towards Claude and Marinette, the excuse to his forgetfulness finally returning. He’d been in the middle of setting the alarm when he saw their tomato-colored faces in front of the Chemistry lab. The sight must have been enough to throw away all thoughts of setting his alarm as he asked what happened. Nevertheless, Felix still had time to copy down some notes before his next class, and that would suit him just fine for today.

“Oh, man, how have I not told you yet?” Claude snorted. “It was hilarious!”

Marinette let out a light, yet playful scoff next to him. “Define ‘hilarious’.”

The group shared a small chuckle, and Claude jumped into the story of how they- well, how he spilled their chemicals in class. It surely couldn’t have been as interesting as the brunette let on, but Claude always loved to be dramatic. He made voices for Marinette’s comments- which she jokingly took offence towards due to the unrealistically high pitch -and flailed his arms about while explaining how he poured the chemicals into a bag and mixed them. Claude even made a point to throw out his arms while mimicking the sound of an explosion when he got to the part of the story where the chemicals overflowed.

One of those arms happened to smack Felix in the shoulder, which easily brought a glare out of the blonde. If Claude was this energetic now, there was no telling how bad he was going to be during Allegra’s sleepover. In fact, the whole group was probably going to go overboard. Something about sleepovers tended to bring out the most outgoing side of a person, which was why Felix loathed them. He had to sit there and listen to everyone snort and laugh and be loud the entire evening without the comfort that he might be able to leave within an hour or two. It was torture, simply put.

And yet, he decided to go. All for the ludicrous thought that he might be able to ask Marinette more questions about her relations to Agreste and her old school once- or if -the night provided them a moment of privacy. The motivation itself was outright foolish if he were honest with himself. Even if he did acquire a “decent moment” to bring up the subject, she would most likely be uncomfortable talking about it, and dragging a person through the past that they’re deliberately trying to run from isn’t pleasant for anyone involved. That’s why he’s refrained from asking about it again so far.

Felix needed to find some other way to sedate his curiosity towards her. He did.. But how else was he going to find out why an aspiring fashion designer would run from the supposed affections of a top designer’s son? Felix guessed that it might be something like sexual harassment or another, equally disgusting treachery, but then what about the chest of gifts? Where her affections for the model had been clear? What type of fallout must one have with another person to risk their entire dream career just to escape them?

Felix shook his head slightly to push the thoughts out of his mind. He wasn’t going to barrage Marinette with question after question just to stop his mind from constantly turning when it probably wouldn’t stop anyway. Marinette was Marinette. A classmate of his that was kind, clumsy yet capable, overly-generous, determined, weirdly strong for someone of her stature, and a mystery in more ways than one when it came to the life she lived. That was going to have to be enough for him.

“You should have seen it, Allegra.” Claude said with a grin, pulling Felix back to the present. He’d somewhat forgotten that the brunette was even talking.

“It was like the whole bag of Phenol Red just went-”

A large crash erupted to the left of them, followed by a strong gust of wind that pushed them all off of their feet. Felix hit the pavement with a grunt, and Marinette landed on top of him a second later, sucking the rest of the air from his lungs. Screams pierced the air, disorienting him further- why were they screaming? What made the crash? How did it create enough wind to knock them over? -but Marinette sat up immediately. She turned to the source of the crash, tense and ready, as though she already knew what they were dealing with, and Felix couldn’t be more confused. Why did she look like she was about to fight something? (And why did he feel like she would win?)

“Do not be afraid!” A voice yelled over the crowds, drawing Felix’s gaze to a woman standing a few yards away from them. She was dressed in dark and light blues, save for her white elbow-length cloak and her white skirt that appeared to be split into several different pieces of cloth. “I’ve come to help! Not just you, but the world!”

Felix’s eyes widened, an entirely new form of terror taking hold of his body. This wasn’t.. This couldn’t be an akuma, right? She looked different than the ones he’d seen on the news, more human. If it weren’t for her white and dark blue mask and the large fan in her hands that seemed to be controlling the wind, he would have thought that she was a normal civilian merely passing by.

“Our planets have been spoiled by the bigger companies for too long!” The woman continued, even though people ran as she spoke. “It’s time we take matters into our own hands!”

His mind screamed at him to run, to hide, to move, but he couldn’t. His entire being was cemented to the spot in fear of what might happen next. What if this akuma was dangerous? What if her powers possessed people like that Pharaoh themed villain? Or completely killed them like Stoneheart or TimeTagger? Were they going to be her first victims? What if it-

A harsh tug interrupted his reeling thoughts, and suddenly, Felix was back on his feet and running. Running behind Marinette who was pulling them to safety.

“Hurry up, we don’t have much time!” She quietly called over her shoulder. “Let’s hide behind the wooden fence while she’s distracted.”

Felix had enough sense to look ahead of them, where a small, wooden fence that held the cafe’s menu was placed. It wasn’t hard to notice under normal circumstances, but how did Marinette think of hiding there while the akuma was right behind them? How was she not paralyzed by the very idea of being caught?

“I’m going to destroy some stores around here, but only to get the heroes’ attention!” The akuma explained as the group scrambled passed the fence and pressed their backs against the wood. “Once I have the miraculous, I will restore everything to its rightful place, I promise!”

Felix tried to slow his rapid, shallow breaths as he sank further against the fence. She was going to destroy buildings? How many? Were they going to get hit with the debris? Where were the heroes that he’d heard so much about? Shouldn’t they be doing something about all of this?

“What do we do?” Claude whispered, panic clear in his tone as well. None of them had ever seen an akuma attack before. Well, none of them except Allan, but he’d been watching through a store window a safe distance away.

“Should we call the police?” Allegra nearly squeaked, tentatively reaching for her bag to pull out her phone. “They help with stuff like this too, right?”

“No need.” Marinette said. She was on the left side of Felix now, staying close to the edge of the fence and carefully peeking around it. “The police have akuma alerts on their phones to tell them when attacks happen. They're already on their way, I’m sure.”

Felix stared down at her with furrowed eyebrows, completely baffled by the lack of panic in her demeanor. This was the same girl who stumbled and stuttered to ask him for a pencil during class! Yet here she was, taking charge and giving orders and speaking perfectly. It was like she was a completely different person! How was that even possible?

“Alright,” The ravenette spoke, turning back to them with a deathly serious gaze, “I’m going to run out and get her attention. While I’m doing that, you guys need to run as far away from here as you can and find a good basement to hide in until this is over.”

“What?” The group practically gasped in unison. She wanted to face the akuma alone?!

“Marinette, you’re not going anywhere!” Allegra insisted. “It’s not safe out there!”

“It’s less safe if we stay here.” She replied, moving to step out into the open.

Felix grabbed her wrist to yank her back. What was happening right now?

“Are you insane?” He hissed unintentionally. “You can’t go out there! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Yeah, she’s not after us.” Allan agreed. “Only the buildings. Let’s just all run out of here together.”

Marinette glanced back at the group. “But there are still people in those buildings. I need to lure her to an empty street or at least stall until the heroes get here. If I don’t, people are definitely going to get hurt or worse.”

Felix’s grip on Marinette’s wrist tightened. He hadn’t thought about the crowds of people who were running inside for cover, but even so, what would she be able to do alone? The akuma was a powerful being, and they were merely civilians in the crossfire. What’s stopping it from crushing Marinette beneath its boot at the slightest whim? Who’s to say the akuma would even listen to Marinette if she did get its attention?

“We’re not letting you sacrifice yourself for an extra second of time.” He told her. “Like you said, the police are on their way, which means the heroes will be here soon too. Let them handle it.”

A strange mix of urgency and frustration flickered across her features, and she tugged against his grip. “Felix, please, we don’t have time to argue-”

“I think I’ll start with this darling café.” The akuma crooned. “That should get some attention.”

The café walls crumbling apart was Felix’s only warning before the gust of wind made it to their little hide-out. It splintered the wood within seconds, and the group went flying, once again, into the pavement.

Felix groaned as he pushed himself to his knees. How many times were they going to get thrown around? At least Marinette didn’t land on him this time.

Marinette.

The realization that Marinette was no longer with him washed over Felix like a bucket of ice cold water, and his gaze snapped upwards. He started to yell for her, but it was too late. Marinette was already on her feet, somehow recovering faster than all of them, and running towards the akuma head on. He could only watch in abject horror as she called out to it.

“Hey, airhead!” She yelled. “Do you really think this is the smartest plan?”

The akuma rounded on Marinette in an instant, and Felix sucked in a breath. No, no, no, no, what was she doing?

“My name is ‘Whirlwind’, thank you very much,” The woman snapped, “and I think it’s a brilliant plan. Do you think you can do something better?”

“Of course.” Marinette replied, crossing her arms. “If you’re already destroying buildings, why not go and destroy the big companies that you’re after in the first place? It’d be much more productive, don’t you think?”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows. Didn’t she say that she wanted to avoid public places?

Whirlwind hummed. “Well, yes, but with all of the major hotels and tourist spots, it’s hard to tell which buildings to destroy, and I don’t have time to look.”

“I’ll show you where they are.” Marinette offered. “Think about it, destroying a big, company building is sure to attract more attention than taking down a little café, right?”

Whirlwind narrowed her eyes as she thought it over, and a part of Felix desperately hoped that she would decline Marinette’s suggestion. A bigger part of him prayed that the police or the heroes or somebody showed up to stop this before Marinette went too far.

“Alright.” Whirlwind smiled. “I’ll take you up on that. It’s nice to see someone else interested in saving the environment.”

With a flick of her fan, Whirlwind gathered a gust of wind around Marinette, causing the ravenette to rise into the air. She then gave herself a gust of wind, which caused her white skirt to start spinning around her. If Felix wasn’t going pale with dread over what might happen to his classmate, he would have found the unique fashion choice to be humorous, as it almost reminded him of a box fan.

Allegra let out a horrified shriek, one that rattled Felix to his bones. This was really happening. Marinette was really being carried off by some maniac in a costume. What were they going to do? What could they do? Gosh, where were the heroes?

Felix grit his teeth and forced himself to his feet. He couldn’t just stand there and watch her be kidnapped or he’d never be able to look her in the eyes afterwards.

That’s right, he told himself. The heroes were going to win, and she was going to be just fine.

Those thoughts didn’t stop him from sprinting after the akuma, though, even as the trio called after him to stop, even as the akuma rose higher into the air, out of his reach. Marinette couldn’t do this by herself, and although Felix’s presence probably wouldn’t make much of a difference either, he’d be darned if he didn’t try to help.

“Don’t worry,” He huffed, comforting himself more than her as he darted through alleyways to keep up with them, “I’m right behind you.”

Tag list: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx

#felinette #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids #Marinette #Felix Culpa #New Girl on the Block

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taetaespeaches · 3 years

Text

“It’s everything to lose.”

taehyung x reader/oc (but also jimin x platonic reader/oc) genre: angst word count: 6K

a/n: well, this was a process to write lol. Basically, Peaches/reader and Tae are experiencing a mix of feelings due to their best friends’ (Jimin and Dear) break up. Fears of a possible relationship with each other are worsened, plus, Tae and Peaches are just sad because their closest friends are sad. Also, Peaches finally talks to Jimin for the first time after he broke up with Dear, so that’s a big part of this as well. And we get a brief moment between Peaches and Dear, our ride or die duo. Ok, that’s really it. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :))

Grasping the back of your neck, you massaged your muscles as you yawned, your eyes set on the coffee percolating into the pot. You loved your best friend, and of course you wanted to be there for her, but her post-break up antics were beginning to wear on you as you failed to get accustomed to running on five or less hours of sleep night after night.

Leaning over the countertop, you looked through your most recent texts with your other best friend, Taehyung. The conversation, which started with him bragging about an amazing waffle he had just eaten, had turned a bit sour as you both defended opposing friends in their recent breakup.

It was hard to find common ground with the man these days, as he was on tour with the antagonist of your friends’ little drama, and you were in a constant state of being the shoulder to cry on for the dear protagonist. A sigh slipped from your lips as you scanned through the messages, the grumbling of the coffee pot sounding in the otherwise silent apartment.

You: He dumped her through text while he was away on tour. That’s fucking ridiculous and it’s cowardly.

Tae: You don’t know what’s going through his mind though.

You: There’s obviously not much going through his mind.

Tae: He’s your friend too.

You: And he broke my best friend’s heart.

Tae: I know that. I’m sorry, I hate this whole situation.

You: Me too. I’m sorry and I hate it too.

Tae: Is she at your place again?

You: No, I’m sure she will be but right now she’s out drinking with those stupid friends she has.

Tae: Oh….

You: Yeah. I’m anxious as fuck. I wanted to keep her from going out but you know, I can’t do that. She has to do what she’s gonna do.

Tae: I’m sorry to add to your stress.

Tae: She’ll be ok, Peaches.

You: No, it’s ok, you could never truly add to my stress. You’re my comfort, Tae, you know that.

Tae: I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle like this.

You: I’m sorry you are too. I’m gonna try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, have a good night, Dearest.

Tae: Sweet dreams, Peaches.

Craving for two seconds away from the ongoing story of your friends’ turbulent romance, you scrolled up on your text conversation with Tae, a faint smile appearing on your lips at the photo of a waffle the size of the plate it sat upon, followed by a photo of Taehyung shoving a massive bite into his mouth.

Tae: It’s definitely big enough for the both of us but since you’re not here I guess I’ll have to manage it alone.

Tae: I miss sharing breakfast foods with you.

Tae: Never mind, this is so good, I’m glad you’re not here to eat it all.

Your brief moment of relief was broken when your screen changed to display a caller you were not prepared to speak to. Guilt and anxiety settled into your stomach as your breathing hitched slightly at the image of his name and photo. The contact ID reminded you of simpler times, the man pulling a silly expression with his chin tucked into his neck to give himself two of them. He had called you a few times the past couple days, but you’d consistently ignored them, trying to avoid hearing the voice of the man you considered one of your closest friends.

You almost didn’t answer again. Looking to the room your best friend slept in, a serious hangover awaiting her on the other side of slumber, your thumb pressed on the green circular button on the right side of the screen.

Pausing a moment, you shook your head before raising the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answered, your voice hushed as to not wake up the girl a few rooms away. A rush of air sounded through the phone, as if the man was sighing in relief, but that was the only response you received. “Jimin,” you sighed.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, defeat coating his tone. He must not have had the strength to pretend to be ok.

Another awkward pause ensued, both of you waiting for the other to break the silence first. With another sigh, you stood up straight, turning your back to the counter as you leaned against it. “Can you say something?” You asked.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted lamely, you licking your lips which became quite dry suddenly.

“You called me,” you pointed out, annoyance in your words that wasn’t intentional but was true to your current mood. “You’ve been calling me for days, but you don’t know what to say?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” he said shakily, and you were sure there were tears bubbling up in his eyes.

Hearing the sadness in his tone, you chewed on your bottom lip, trying to conceal your own emotions in response to his tone. You weren’t sure your feelings even mattered right then. “Well I answered,” you told him, in a sort of assurance. Assurance of what, neither of you were sure, but it allowed Jimin a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” the man whispered, causing you to clench your teeth to hold back your pity and consideration for him as you turned back around to the coffee machine.

“Don’t thank me,” you told him, a slight anger behind your tone. “What do you want to say? I have errands I need to run.”

As Jimin prepared his words, going through his mind to figure out exactly why he was calling you, you patiently waited, halting your movements as your hand sat on the handle of the coffee pot. You knew he needed time to gather his thoughts, and though you were angry with him, you cared for him enough to give him that. “I just miss you,” he admitted, a crack in his voice indicating the earnest admission.

Taking in a shaky breath, you let it out in a wobbly exhale. “Of course I miss you too,” you said honestly. You refused to lie to him about that. “But I don’t want to talk to you, Jimin.”

His words tumbled out of him bitterly, but it was shrouded in frustration, which you believed to be with himself. “You were my friend first,” he said, uncertain whether he regretted the comment or not.

“I’m still your friend,” you told him adamantly, though your voice was still quiet.

“Then please talk to me,” he begged, almost desperate for the affection you normally showed him. Well, that you showed him before he broke your best friend’s heart.

“I can’t,” you told him trying to sound stern, but your exhausted state ruining your feeble attempt to put up a front.

A sniffle sounded through the phone, adding to the heaviness in your heart. “Why not?”

Holding the phone to your ear with one hand, you moved your other from the coffee pot to the top of your head as you scratched your roots in frustration and distress. “I can’t risk saying something awful to you,” you confessed through an unsteady voice. And that was it. You were angry with him, but you didn’t want to hurt him. “I love you, you’re one of my favorite people on this entire planet, Jimin,” you cried, your sniffling giving away your emotion to the man on the other side of the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he told you in a rush as you wiped away a tear.

“I see her every day,” you told Jimin in a whisper, ensuring your voice was too low for your friend to hear you if she suddenly awoke. However, you were sure the quietness of your voice was giving away that the woman he still loved was just feet away from you; just feet away from the conversation currently taking place, asleep in your spare bedroom. “I’m so mad at you, Jimin, god I’m mad at you,” your voice suddenly broke, no longer able to hold back the pent-up emotions. If Jimin’s thoughts had strayed to the girl nearby, the sound of your distressed voice surely brought him back to the present conversation; the present state of your friendship. “I need to process all of this before I talk to you because I love you and I can’t say something I’ll regret or something I don’t mean,” you explained as tears spilled over your lash line.

“I understand,” he said roughly, clearing his voice right after as if he was trying to pull himself together for your sake.

“I just-” You paused, holding your breath as you attempted to swallow more tears. “I need time so I can forgive you,” you told him sadly, clenching your fist together as you tried to steady your breathing. “I’m sorry,” you told him, your voice just above a whisper.

“Please don’t apologize,” he begged, choking back a sob. “I get it, take your time,” he assured you. “I’m really sorry for doing this,” he admitted sadly. The man sounded regretful and broken, your pity for him swirling around in the whirlwind of emotions you were currently experiencing. “All of it.”

You knew that was true. You knew he still loved her. And you knew he felt immense guilt for what he did to her, you, Taehyung, your whole friend unit, but mostly her. That much was obvious.

“I do miss you,” you assured him through a small whimper, choosing to give him the reassurance rather than responding to his apology. “I won’t be mad forever.”

“I miss you too,” he told you sorrowfully. “I’ll be here whenever your feelings change.”

With that, you ended the call, leaving Jimin alone in his hotel room. Setting the phone to the counter, you wiped your face once more before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot, pouring some into the mug you had taken out earlier.

Thinking upon your conversation with Jimin, you wanted nothing more than to scream at him; tell him what an idiot he was. But you also wanted to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that he would be ok. You were my friend first. You scoffed, thinking of his remark, though a tear slid down your cheek. You wanted to be there for your friend, but how could you be when your other friend was just down the hallway, passed out after a night of trying to numb her heartache through the use of alcohol? He caused that pain. You were right to be mad at him… weren’t you?

It was almost astonishing how things, seemingly meant to be, could fall apart right before your eyes. Things weren’t always easy for Jimin and your friend, but they loved each other. One would think that love would be enough to get them through. But maybe love isn’t enough. Maybe fate isn’t enough.

Fate. Soulmates. They’re interesting concepts. Souls destined to find each other. But the rhetoric surrounding these notions don’t suggest that you’ll end up together.

But maybe if Jimin and your friend could see past everything that went wrong, they would find something worth fighting for still. It wasn’t simple, but it could be simpler for them.

Something also simple but not simple at all was you and Taehyung. More and more recently, you had been realizing how much you love him. Maybe you both were meant to be together too. Tied together by the fate of your souls. But seeing how things can fall apart, perhaps it’s more risk than it’s worth. Wasn’t it better to have Tae in your life in the role of your best friend than it was to complicate things and lose him? You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t let yourself.

You sniveled as you brought the coffee to your lips, making an attempt at a deep breath before taking a sip. Your emotions needed to be locked down by the time your friend awoke. However, that concern came too late as two arms wrapped around your middle, the surprise affection causing you to jump in start.

The presence of her limbs were tentative as he she carefully rested the side of her face against your back. Breathing out in a huff, you relaxed a bit. “Jesus,” you spoke softly, but your friend gave you no response. Alarm bells went off in your head as her body trembled just slightly against yours. “You ok?” You asked, setting the mug down carefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against you, and as your mind went into high alert, your heart plummeted into your gut. Immediately, you turned in her arms, wrapping your own around the back of her head, holding her impossibly close to you. Sorry?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you assured her, leaving a kiss to the side of her head on the top of her hair. “Absolutely nothing.”

“My behavior last night could use an apology,” she admitted, causing you to smile slightly though she couldn’t see it with her face buried against your neck.

“Well, maybe that,” you teasingly agreed, thinking back to the few hours earlier in which you had to drive to the club she was at because she had broken down on the dance floor. All anger, if there was any to begin with, however, had completely dissolved when you pulled up outside the establishment to find her sitting against the wall in the cold, mascara stains down her cheeks as she sobbed about how much her heart hurt. “But are you even apologizing for that?” You asked her, realizing she must have heard you on the phone with her ex.

“Partially,” she cried harder. She knew the strain the breakup had put on all four of you, and though it wasn’t her fault, she still felt guilty. You knew she did. Her heart was too soft for her to not take some sort of blame.

Allowing her to cry in your arms, you moved your hand to the back of her head as you tried to make her feel safe. “You’re gonna be ok,” you whispered to her repeatedly in a gentle tone.

After a few moments, she pulled away to look at you, your thumbs moving to her cheeks to wipe the tears away, though more continued to fall, quickly replacing them.

“How is he?” She suddenly asked you, her lip trembling as she held back a sob.

Scanning her features carefully, you debated your answer. If you told her he was ok, it would make her feel pitiful for not being ok, plus it would be a lie. If you told her he wasn’t ok, it could possibly hurt her even more. Locking your eyes on her pleading ones, you sighed. “About as good as you,” you told her simply, holding back your own tears as she broke down, your arms wrapping around her shoulders to bring her close once again.

Placing a hand back against her head, you held her to you tightly. “Why does that make me feel worse?” She asked against your shoulder, her voice muffled from your sweatshirt.

“Oh babe,” you spoke softly near her ear, a tear slipping from the inner corner of your eye. “Because you still love him.”

You weren’t sure if you should have said that, but it was true. And maybe if she heard it from you, she would face those feelings. As she cried against you, your mind raced over everything that had happened that morning already. Everyone was so broken, and suddenly your mind found its way to Taehyung. Because he was the only one you wanted to talk to in that moment. He was your comfort.

But what if you didn’t have him anymore? Two people as meant to be as Jimin and the girl in your arms couldn’t even make it work. Add in your fickleness in love, and where did that leave your odds at success with Tae? You refused to break him, and you couldn’t lose him. You just couldn’t.

Hauling your groceries through your apartment, your phone started ringing in your pocket. Rushing to the kitchen, you set the bags on the floor before grabbing the device, finding Tae on the other side of the video call.

Accepting it, you waited for his face to appear on the screen before greeting him. “Hi,” you answered in a huff, Tae immediately chuckling at your hectic state.

“Hey,” he greeted, “Are you busy?”

“No,” you shook your head, dropping the phone to the counter just after speaking the word, causing the man to giggle further. “Just got home from grocery shopping,” you told him as you discarded your bag off your shoulder and onto the countertop. Taehyung hummed in response just as you propped the phone up against the side of your bag, situating it so he could see you as you stood in your kitchen.

“Did you get anything fun?” He asked, as you scanned the bags on the floor.

“Um,” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “I got those cookies you like,” you spoke through your exhale, looking at him through the screen to take in his appearance. “You look handsome,” you told him, the man smiling slightly at you as you stared at his still damp hair atop his head, giving away that he had showered recently.

“You tired?” He asked suddenly, being met with your groan as you stared down at the groceries without moving. “What happened last night?”

“Well, she went out with those friends and of course it was too soon for her to be out partying and I had to pick her up at 2 am outside of the club because she had a break down,” you ranted to him as you knelt down to begin taking items out of the grocery bags.

“Jesus,” he sighed, your eyebrows raising at his response.

“What?” You questioned defensively, piling items onto the floor as you emptied all the bags.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he tried to evade your anger. “I’m assuming she’s not there right now?”

“No, she went back to her place for a bit,” you told him. “What was with the judgmental tone just now?” You pressed.

Looking up at the phone, you watched as shook his hair out with his hand. “It’s just, that’s not really fair to you, is it?”

Scoffing at him, you stood, not bothering to look at the phone as you brought some juice and a few other items to the refrigerator.

“I just mean, you deserve some rest,” he added. “A break maybe.”

“Well I don’t get a break because your best friend broke up with mine and she’s devastated,” you said coldly, shutting the fridge door and turning back to face the device.

“He’s your friend too,” he reminded you, his eyebrows raised, causing you roll your eyes.

“I know that,” you said in annoyance. “But you don’t see what she’s going through every day,” you pointed out, feeling protective over your friend and her broken heart.

Reaching to grab a box of crackers off the floor, you headed toward the cupboard as Taehyung told you, “You really should talk to him.”

Letting out a dry laugh, you nodded to yourself. “Tae, she’s my best friend,” you reminded him once more.

“I get that, but he’s your friend too,” he repeated, causing you to sigh. “He’s going through stuff too,” he added. You wanted to scoff, but if you were being honest with yourself, your anger towards Jimin had diminished significantly since speaking to him briefly that morning.

“Well,” you thought out loud, facing the man once more. Folding your arms over your ribcage, you shrugged. “I’m sure he is but he did this,” you said, trying to remain firm in your coldness.

You were met with the sound of Taehyung breathing out slowly as his eyes stayed locked on you. “That’s not really fair, he’s hurting too,” Taehyung defended his friend.

“I love Jimin,” you clarified. “But I don’t have time to think about him when she’s at my place all the time because she can’t handle being alone in her own apartment for a single night,” you told him, staring at him as you waited for him to respond. Taehyung ran his tongue over his bottom lip as you sighed. “I know Jimin is hurting, but she is too. And it’s bad, Tae,” you told him sadly.

Taehyung sighed as you stared at him through the phone, waiting for his next words. “I know, I don’t mean to be insensitive to her. I know he hurt her, I get that. I’m just here with him and he’s a fucking mess,” Tae huffed. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted sadly, giving you a defeated shrug.

Stepping closer to the phone, you shook your head slowly. “I don’t either,” you admitted. You both sat in silence for a moment, watching each other through opposite sides of the phone, your remaining groceries still waiting on the floor.

Taehyung was the first to break the silence, asking, “What are you thinking?”

Sighing, you ran your hands over your face. “I don’t even know, I’m just-” you stopped yourself, not sure if you should speak your next words; because of the implication to you and Tae.

“What is it?” He pressed, resituating himself on the bed as he sat laid across a pillow, his head supported by his hand. “Peaches,” he said gently, causing you to relent.

“Maybe they shouldn’t have ever gone from friends to more,” you thought aloud, Tae’s silence feeling heavy on your heart as he tried his best to keep his face from giving away any emotion.

“You think?” He asked simply, his feigned indifference covering up the hurt you knew was there.

“It’s just a hard leap to make,” you explained, leaning against the counter on your elbows, holding your chin in your hands. “If it doesn’t work, this is where it leaves you.” Your eyes were glued to the phone as you watched him carefully. Suddenly, you felt angry at these fucking phone companies who couldn’t make a better camera or give you a better connection to be able to read the emotions flashing through his eyes and features more closely.

“Sometimes it works though,” he told you quietly, his voice nearly shaking, almost as if he was meekly defending himself.

A lump formed in your throat that you didn’t believe you’d be able to ever swallow, knowing you were the cause of the sadness he was feeling. “But if it doesn’t, that’s a lot to lose,” you argued, your voice faint as the emotions sat in your vocal chords.

“But it can work,” he said a bit louder than his last comment, his voice more assured as he licked his lips.

“Tae,” you sighed, cocking your head to the side just slightly. You both knew you were no longer talking about your friends’ experience with moving from friends to lovers. There had never been any confirmation from either you or Taehyung, but sometimes it seemed as though there was an unspoken understanding of how you both thought of each other.

“Look at Jin,” Taehyung countered, pointing to the fact that Jin and his old friend had successfully added romance to their relationship over a year earlier. “They’re doing really well, they’re happy.”

“Tae,” you called out to him gently, attempting to swallow as your eyes shined with emotion. When he responded with his silence, his sad eyes scanning over your features carefully, you chewed on your bottom lip as you attempted to hold in your emotion. “It’s a lot to lose,” you whispered, holding his gaze. “It’s everything to lose,” you added, blinking a few times as Taehyung looked down to the bed and began picking at the comforter. A few seconds of silence went by and you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you suddenly exhaled, feeling breathless and tired. “Dearest,” you addressed him softly.

“No, you’re right,” he said half-heartedly, keeping his eyes directed downward. “It is everything to lose,” he agreed with a small nod, looking up to you.

“Everything, Tae,” you emphasized, hoping he would recognize that he was everything to you.

“You really should talk to Jimin,” he changed the topic, his tone stronger as he seemed to easily move on from your unspoken confessions. Inhaling deeply, you nodded slowly, standing up straight before moving back to the groceries. Trying to shake yourself out of the conversation that just took place, you spotted the cookies sitting on the floor.

“I’ll think about it,” you replied before reaching for the package. “I’m not gonna save you any of these,” you teased, holding them up for him to see as his lips spread into a mildly amused grin.

“Well I didn’t save you any of the waffle so it’s only fair,” he played along, both of you pushing aside the tension between you both once more.

You would think about talking to Jimin, you meant that. But it would be hard to think of anything but Taehyung.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you sighed deeply as you tried to muster up some courage. Lowering your digit to the phone screen before you could change your mind, you nervously raised the device to your ear.

The rings were deafeningly loud as you awaited the answer, running your hand through your hair and chewing on your bottom lip; nervous gestures.

“Hey,” Jimin greeted suddenly, his voice appearing breathless as if he rushed to the phone.

“Why’d you do it?” You asked him, skipping greetings and pleasantries. A moment of silence encased the phone call before Jimin sighed.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore,” he said, a sob following the words as if he had been sitting on the edge of a break down for days; weeks. The confusion and heartbreak in his tone shattered your heart, filling you with guilt for evading his calls and texts for so long. “I don’t know if there was even a valid reason and I regret it so much.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” you admitted, thinking back upon their relationship and what they had revealed to you.

“Me either,” he barely spoke through his cracked voice. “I don’t know, it’s like, as secure as we made each other feel, it was like we could never fully rid ourselves of our own insecurities,” he explained through his cries. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” He asked as he held back tears.

“Oh Jimin,” you sighed, realizing what drove them apart. And suddenly, you had the urge to wrap them both up in hugs because in an instant, there was nowhere to place the blame you were previously placing on Jimin. It was both their faults, and also no one’s fault. Jimin had made the wrong move, your best friend didn’t make enough moves, and yet they were both just victims to their own intrusive perceptions of themselves.

“Our own shit just got in the way and-” he let out a harsh breath. “When I sent the text I immediately regretted it and I was just trying to convince myself that it was for the best,” he sniffled. “And I was about to take it all back and beg for forgiveness, fuck, I was thinking about leaving tour and coming back to her so we could fix whatever the fuck was causing all of this shit between us,” he paused as his cries took over.

“Why didn’t you take it all back?” You asked him.

You collected up the patience as you gave him time the time to think back on the breakup. “All of a sudden, she just stopped fighting,” he said sadly. “We were always fighting for each other, and she finally stopped. And I don’t know, I think it kind of cemented the idea that I did the right thing. It hurt, and it felt wrong, but she accepted the breakup and gave up.”

“Fuck, Jimin,” you held back your tears at the defeat in his voice. “She didn’t stop fighting for you, she just didn’t have enough fight left in her to take on your insecurities any longer,” you told him.

“What’s even the difference?” He asked. “Whether she stopped fighting willfully, or whether I took the fight out of her,” he scoffed, “I became too much for her.”

“I don’t think you could ever be too much for her,” you assured him. “Look, do you want me to speak to you compassionately or truthfully?” You asked, the question being met with a dry laugh.

“You’re always compassionate, but I want the truth,” he told you, you nodding though he couldn’t see it.

“You fucked up,” you told him, “but also I don’t think this is entirely your fault,” you quickly added. With a sigh, you thought out loud. “How do I word this?” you pondered. “You two are two of the most incredible people I’ve ever known and yet, you guys can’t fucking see it.”

Jimin scoffed, making you roll your eyes. “I said I was speaking truthfully, so just listen to me and try to actually hear what I’m saying for once,” you told him, the man agreeing to listen by giving you his silence. “You see how incredible she is and that makes you insecure because you don’t see yourself living up to what she deserves. And it’s the same for her, she doesn’t think she can be what you need and what you want, despite you assuring her constantly that she’s everything to you. And that holds you both back from being exactly what the other person wants,” you paused for a moment, letting the words permeate Jimin’s brain. “If you two could just be who you are and give each other that version of yourselves, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” you explained to him. “She fell in love with you, she just wants you.”

“Fuck,” he sobbed, the pained understanding echoing in his single expression. “But I fucked it up, I hurt her and I don’t think we can fix it this time.”

“I truly do not understand how you can be so wrong about this all the fucking time,” you groaned. “She is in love with you,” you told him, enunciating the words carefully. “You hurt her, and you hurt her bad, but she hasn’t given up on you,” you told him. “Whether she admits it or not, she’s waiting for you to fix it,” you informed the man. “So fucking fix it. Stop holding yourself back and just be happy, Jimin.”

“I don’t know if-”

“Be happy,” you interrupted him. “Stop being so idiotic and just fight for your happiness. Fight for hers,” you begged him, frustration over both of your friends’ moronic actions getting the best of your patience. “You both deserve each other because you’re both the best,” you went on, trying to convey to the man how strongly you felt he and the girl you both adored belonged with each other.

“She still loves me?” He asked, being met with another one of your groans. “Sorry, I just, she does?”

“Do you still love her?” You asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to speak it out loud so maybe he could truly hear it.

“With all of me,” he admitted sadly, a sniffle following the words, allowing you to visualize the tears running down his cheeks in that moment.

“Do you really think that’s one sided?” You asked him.

“I really don’t know,” he admitted, a small sigh leaving your lips.

“It’s so simple but you guys make it so complicated,” you complained, the man giving you the slightest chuckle in the form of a single exhale. “You both lost the fight, but you didn’t lose the fight for each other, you lost it to yourselves. Does that make sense?” You asked.

“I think so?” He said, thought it came out as a question.

“You guys were defeated by your own insecurities. It’s not like you chose to give up on her, just like she didn’t choose to give up on you. You both just feel hopeless right now, that’s-”

“It’s not hopeless?” He asked, and despite the negative comment, there was a renewed optimism in his tone that lifted your lips into a faint smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s not hopeless.” You both sat in silence, nothing but your breaths sounding into the phone receivers. “I’ll talk to her,” you assured him. “If I get any sense that she doesn’t want you anymore, I’ll let you know and I’ll be full of apologies and you can hate me forever,” you told him.

“I could never hate you,” he scoffed.

“But if I’m right, which I know I am, Jimin, I know it,” you assured him, “then you need to find that hope and bring it back to her.”

With a sigh, Jimin agreed with a simple, “ok.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Fix it.”

“I hope I can,” he spoke softly, his voice still sad, but much less defeated than the start of the conversation.

“Hope is enough right now,” you told him.

“Thank you for finally talking to me,” he said, a hint of a smile evident in his voice.

“Thank Tae,” you corrected. “He talked me into it.”

“He really is the only one who can cut through your stubbornness, huh?” He asked teasingly, you chuckling lightly in response.

“I guess he is,” you agreed.

“Speaking of simple but making it complicated though,” Jimin noted, drawing upon your earlier words, and reflecting them back on you and your relationship with Taehyung.

“Tae and I aren’t complicated,” you negated Jimin’s observation, only to be met with a disbelieving laugh. “We aren’t,” you remained firm. “I know it seems complicated but, when it comes down to it, it’s the simplest thing ever.”

“Ok, break it down for me then,” Jimin asked for your elaboration. “How is it simple?”

“Because at the end of the day, we just love each other. So much so, that we’ll do anything to keep one another in each other’s lives,” you explained. “And that makes my relationship the simplest, easiest relationship I’ve ever had.”

Jimin hummed in return, thinking over your words. “That does sound simple, I guess,” he agreed. “But are you happy?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the question. Were you? Were you fulfilled with Tae’s role in your life as you went and dated other people, finishing each escapade craving for more, anxious for the night to be over so you could call Taehyung and hear his voice as he expressed whatever was on his mind? The truth was, no one was or ever would be Taehyung. No matter how great they were, no matter how smart, kind, funny, genuine they were, they would never be him. But Taehyung was in your life, and maybe that was enough. So, were you happy? Turns out that’s the most complicated question you could have been asked.

“This isn’t about me,” you told Jimin with a small smile.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you happy?”

“I’m not unhappy,” you said assuredly. That was true, for sure.

“But is that happy?” Jimin pressed, causing you to sigh in annoyance.

“It’s happy enough,” you told him. “But one of us has to be happy, right?” You turned it back on him.

Jimin breathed out your name, but you dismissed him. “This is about you right now,” you told him. “If you fix things on your end, then we can entertain a discussion about my happiness, ok?” You asked him, though it wasn’t really a topic up for debate which he understood.

“Deal,” he agreed with a light chuckle.

Happiness, you thought. What was it? You were sure it was different for everyone. Just as you were sure it comes from many different sources. For you, though, your main source of happiness was seeing Taehyung smile. His happiness mattered most in terms of your relationship. And if he was happy being your friend and having you as his, then you were happy. Happy enough.

If he wasn’t happy… well, something would have to be done about that.

305 notes · View notes

hops-hunny · 3 years

Text

Something I’d Get Used To

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.4k

Request: anon “Hey could I get a 9 & 21 for nev with a fem reader please fluff/smutt! Thank you!! :)”

Summary: (Y/n) doesn’t do love, but whatever her and Neville have is something she can get used to

Warnings: Slight angst in the beginning but vast majority fluff!

A/N: Hey anon, I decided to go with fluff so I hope you enjoy this! I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you have just as much reading it!

9. “Love’s a word I always hated.”

21. “I’m smitten with you and everyone knows it.”

Love. A word that made (Y/n) sick to the very pit of her stomach, and Merlin’s knows not in a good way. (Y/n) was tired of the word love before she even knew what it meant. The word that held so much meaning. The word girls and boys alike waited sometimes their entire life to hear. She was sick of it. She had her parents to thank for that. Growing up, (Y/n)’s parents were always busy with work, leaving her with various different strangers referred to as “nannies”. At first she’d look forward to hearing the words, even reading them. “We love you dear, we’ll be home soon!” Each letter ended with this phrase. She remembered the long days that she’d sit by the front door, waiting for the owl to bring the letters to her. How she’d clutch them to her heart, cheering with glee as she’d read her to whichever nanny they had hired.

However, each time they’d leave they would go for longer and longer, the letters would grow shorter and shorter until eventually they became nonexistent. She felt uncared for, unloved. When her parents got older they started to stay home more opting to work from home. She could still recall the fated conversation that made her hated that stupid little four letter word.

(Y/n) was ecstatic but tried not to show it that much. She knew how much her parents disliked when she would outwardly express obscene amounts of emotion and yet she couldn’t help the smile that overtook her face when they invited her out for dinner. They felt bad for all the important holidays and birthdays they had missed and to make up for it, they decided to take her out for one last grand hoorah before her departure to Hogwarts.

“Mom, dad, can I ask you something?” she asked, playing with her fingers nervously. Although they were her parents, she always felt unsure of how to speak to them. The limited amount of time they had spent together were always cut short, leaving her parents to feel like distant strangers in her life. Her mom looked up from her phone, smiling at the girl.

“Of course dear, what is it?”

“I...I wanted to know why the letters stopped. You know, when you two would travel. You used to send me a postcard and a letter from whatever place you guys were at and eventually they just stopped coming.” She looked up at her parents, biting the inside of her cheek nervously. “Why is that?”

“Letters?” her father started off confused, looking up from his menu briefly before returning his eyes to it. “What lett-”

“Dear let’s stop. Did you want to order drinks too? I’ll get the waiter ov-”

“No mother, let him finish. Go on dad, what do you mean what letters? You guys used to send me them every time you left. How could you not know what letters?” she pleaded desperately, trying to find the answers in her parents eyes.

“Oh right! Those letters.” he said unamused. “Listen kid, you’re old enough now so I guess it’s time we tell you. We weren’t the ones writing those letters, it was your nannies. Do you really think we had the time out of our busy schedules to write you letters? Don’t be ridiculous.” he said, letting out a chuckle. “I don’t see how you didn’t notice that the handwriting was a bit different each time.” His eyes rose quickly from the small words on the menu at the sound of the menu being slammed on the table. (Y/n) stood there with hot angry tears in her eyes, glaring at her parents. No, it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. They loved her, right? People who love each other don’t lie, her mother had taught her that once. She rose from her spot in the booth, running out the restaurant despite the cries of protest for her to stay.

When she got home, she went into her room pulling the old box that she kept under her bed. She ripped the lid off, pouring the contents onto the bed. “No,” she croaked, tears beginning to form in her eyes again, “No, no, no. Come on. No come on!” she picked up the letters comparing the writing noticing how the writing didn’t match up. “Bullshit! This is bullshit! I can’t believe this!” she screamed, throwing herself on the bed. She sobbed herself to sleep, surrounded by the letters filled with lies. So much for love.

After that incident, (Y/n) opted for staying with her aunt. Her aunt was a few years older than her mom but due to the lax life she lived, she looked a lot younger. She was very grateful that her aunt took her in with such short notice, welcoming her with open arms. She’d write to her often, sending her letters of the adventures she was having at Hogwarts. She would always laugh at the bittersweet way her aunt would sign letters, “Lots of Love, Aunt Margie.”

“Oh come on! Please? It’s just one group date.” Hermione pleaded, chasing down the hallway after her friend. She sat down next to her on the common room couch, smiling at the (y/h/h) girl. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll even fall in l-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. That word makes me sick to my stomach.” she said, clutching at her stomach to add emphasis as she made gagging noises. “Love’s a word I’ve always hated.” Hermione looked at her friend sympathetically, patting her leg. Her and Hermione had been friends long before their years at Hogwarts. Her parents were colleagues of her parents but they had lower down positions.

“I know, I know. But you also know I wouldn’t put you with anyone I didn’t think was good enough to be with you. He’s a sweet guy! He loves tending to plants, he’s kind, funny. Sure he’s a little awkward and slouches a bit when he stands but he’s got his own bit of charm!” She said, watching as (Y/n) considered her words. She sighed looking at her.

“Is he at least cute?”

“I knew you’d come around!” Hermione exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her friend tightly. She pulled back, holding her hands in a comforting way. “It is at the end of the week. I decided to tell you ahead of time so on the off chance you’d agree, which you did, you’d have time to back out at any time if you decided you don’t want to go. Well,” she started as she stood up, gathering her things in her hand. “I’ve gotta get going! And to answer your question, I guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”

--------------------------------------------

(Y/n) snuck through the grass trying to make her way to the greenhouse. Well, as much you could sneak in panda slippers and a nightie. It was about three in the morning and no matter what, she couldn’t sleep. Most nights she had trouble sleeping but it was never this much. “Just my luck. First date I ever agree to and here I am in my fucking pajamas trying to sneak into the greenhouse for a plant that may or may not even be there.” she grumbled, holding her illuminated wand in front of her. She sighed in relief as she finally made her way into the greenhouse.

She found herself pondering whether it would’ve been simpler to just snag some chamomile from Snape’s room instead. “No, don’t be stupid. He would’ve definitely given me some awful punishment, or even worse, let Filch deal with me.” she shuddered at the thought. She looked around the crowded building, looking and searching for the plant. “What the fuck does a chamomile plant even look like?” she muttered. (Y/n) felt herself growing a bit irritated with herself. Years of living with her Aunt Margie had left her spoiled considering Aunt Margie hated tea bags, always opting for making her own blends. If only she had paid attention to her when she was teaching her about plants, that would make this process a whole lot easier.

“Chamomile, chamomile, chamomile. Eh, this looks close enough!” she reached for the pair of scissors in her pocket, leaning forward to cut it before a hand grabbed hers. She screamed, jumping back as she pointed the scissors at the intruder. “What are you doing?!” she questioned, looking up at the boy. He had a blue pajama set on along with a brown pair of moccasins. He quirked a brow, hazel eyes boring into her own.

“I could ask you the same thing. I come here every night and never see you here.” he shuffled awkwardly, taking the scissors from the girl’s grasp. “Did you need something?”

“I was just about to cut a bit of this chamomile here.” She said motioning to the plant. The boy began to laugh some, shaking his head as he walked across the greenhouse. “What’s so funny?”

“That,” he motioned to the plant that she was previously going to cut, “Is not chamomile. If you were looking for something to help with sleep you would’ve been very upset. That’s actually bouncing biltweed. Whoever drinks it, be it through a tea or potion, is left awake for HOURS. It’s a good alternative for coffee drinkers though.” she felt heat rise to her face as she looked away embarrassed, crossing her arms as she mumbled about how she already knew that.

“Why do you know so much about plants anyways. You say you come here every night, why is that?” she questioned, walking over to his side. She watched as he cut at the actual chamomile before walking to a purple plant and cutting some of that as well.

“I love plants. I always used to have this extra energy from how anxious I’d get, so I started tending and caring for plants. After herbology in first year I became hooked. They’re so fascinating.” He looked down at her, flushing slightly. “Usually I don’t come here this late but I couldn’t sleep either. I have something I’m really looking forward to tomorrow and I don’t wanna screw it up.” she nodded, giving him a noise of acknowledgement.

“Yeah, I’ve got something tomorrow to. I wouldn’t say I’m looking forward to it but I am quite concerned about how it’ll all play out.” she sighed, stretching as her eyes floated around the room. Her eyes landed on a kettle and a set of cups around the room. “Well since we’re both in the same boat, how bout we have a cup of tea together, yeah?” she asked, walking to the kettle as she looked back at the boy. She noticed how red he was but chose to ignore it as he gave her a nod.

Although she wasn’t usually a people person, she felt oddly comforted around the boy. He was a bit awkward but sweet nonetheless. (Y/n) hadn’t expected to run into him, let alone spend the next few hours laughing and talking to a guy who’s name she didn’t even know! After a while, their conversation dwindled down to nothing as the effects of the lavender and chamomile took over the both of them. The walked to the castle together before bidding each other goodbye, going their separate ways. She’d never admit it to herself, but she quite liked the boy. He seemed like someone she could be into.

----------------------------------------

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Hermione huffed, throwing herself onto (Y/n)’s bed as the girl got ready. (Y/n) rolled her eyes, adding a final coat of lip gloss on as she ignored the girl. “You know, for someone who was very reluctant to go on this date, you’re putting a lot of effort into your appearance. I think Neville will appreciate it though." She giggled as the girl began to sprits a light amount of perfume.

"Neville?” ah, so that’s what his name was. “And, if I'm going to be wasting my time then I might as well look good doing it. And besides, I'm ready!" She walked over to the mirror smiling at her appearance. She had on a mossy green oversized sweater totally not stolen from her father that was tucked into the overall shorts that she had cuffed around the legs. On her lower half she adorned a beat up pair of sneakers. She smiled, admiring herself before grabbing her brown leather satchel. Hermione stood next to her friend in the mirror, looking at her own appearance as she bit the inside of her cheek.

“Do you think I look alright?” she questioned, viewing herself from another angle. “Because, you know, I think I look wonderful but do you think Ro-”

“If Ron doesn’t think you look nice then I’ll give him a reason not to be able to see. You look wonderful! You’ve been looking forward to this all week, don’t go beating yourself up. Now,” she grabbed the girl’s hand as they began to head towards the door. “Let’s go show 'em what we’re made of.”

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The world had to be playing a joke on her. There was no other explanation for what was in front of her. No, it couldn’t be him. However, as they neared her suspicions were confirmed. As the others were all communicating, the boy(who she assumed to be Neville) stood awkwardly by himself, chiming in every so often. She could’ve been wrong but as he turned towards her, with rosy red cheeks and wide eyes, she knew most definitely it was him. “Hey! It’s you from last night. Are you Neville?” she questioned, standing in front of him. He had on a brown flannel, a black shirt under it which was untucked from his dark color jeans, quite a contrast from his cute little pajama set from the other night.

“Y-yeah I am! This is for you.” He said, holding out a beautiful hand picked bouquet before continuing, “I-I know it’s a weird combination but I thought it’d be a nice call back from the other night.” she smiled, looking down at the strange but welcome array of chamomile, lavender, and baby’s breath. How cu- thoughtful was that? Her brows shot up in realization.

“Wait, you knew?! Why didn’t you say something?” she exasperated, slapping his shoulder playfully before she threw back her head groaning. “I told you so many embarrassing stories last night.” she facepalmed, looking up at him as he began to laugh some.

“Thought it’d be a funny surprise. The look on your face was priceless!” He said, moving away as he laughed at her failed attempts to hit him. He looked around realizing their group had already gone. “It looks like everyone else already left. Let’s get going, yeah?” he said, holding his hand out to her. (Y/n) looked down at it hesitantly before taking his outstretched hand, goosebumps spreading across her body at the warm contact.

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As they arrived at the quaint little hole in the wall of a restaurant, they realized their small predicament. Hermione smiled, turning towards (Y/n). “Have I ever mentioned how much I lo- care about you?” she cooed sweetly, taking the girl’s (s/c) hands in her own. In return the girl narrowed her eyes looking at her.

“What happened? What do I need to do?” she questioned.

“Well it won’t necessarily be you who has to do something,” she walked back looking at her group of friends, “It appears there’s not enough seats for 5 sets of us so one couple is going to have to take a booth.” (Y/n) looked at her rolling her eyes.

“We’ll do it. Willingly too because if I have to see Harry look at Ginny like that one more time I honestly might end up puking. Come on Nev.” she said, grabbing the giant's hand, leading him to the booth in question. Neville felt his breath hitch and his face flush at the contact, turning to give his friends one last look.

“Don’t bore her to death with all your talk about weeds and plants! I don’t think any girl wants to hear that.” Seamus snickered out, walking away from his friend. However, (Y/n) didn’t hear him, looking up at Neville as she waited for him to sit down. She froze but shortly relaxed as he took a seat across from her instead of next to her.

“I hope we didn’t waste all our good topics yesterday!” she exclaimed looking over at him.

“Surely we haven’t. You know, you never told me what you like to do for fun. Do you have any hobbies?” he asked, looking over the menu as he waited for a response.

“Of course! I’m an artist. Wait a second, I brought my sketchbook, give me one second.” she said, digging into the brown bag that sat next to her. She pulled out a worn down leather notebook, sliding it across the table.

“You brought your sketchbook on a date?” he chuckled, watching as she looked away timidly. “I’m just teasing, love. Plus I knew you drew, I’ve seen you sketching sometime but I’ve never actually seen any of you work,” he flipped it open, gasping at the girl’s art, “But oh wow are you talented! I expected nothing less from you though.”

“To be fair, I brought the sketchbook before I knew it was you I was going on a date with. I thought I’d be stuck with someone boring and uninteresting,” she said, watching as he examined the pages, “But I guess I lucked out, huh?” Now it was Neville’s turn to feel taken. He flushed lightly before reaching over, grabbing her hand.

“Oh? Am I hearing this correctly? Am I being led to believe you’re enjoying your time on this date with me?”

“Don’t push your luck, Longbottom.”

The pair continued to talk, not a moment of silence falling upon them. It was going perfectly. Neville let her talk about her hobbies and equally enjoyed talking about his. Not once did either of the two get bored or stop talking...which couldn’t be said about their friend’s at the table across from them. The two began to giggle at the sight of the bored expressions on their faces. “Oh god, how awkward does that look?” she laughed out, watching as one of the girl’s visibly yawned at something Seamus said.

“And to think he tried to give me advice before this. Looks like it should’ve been the other way around.” He said, moving his eyes back to the girl. God she was gorgeous, he couldn’t help but think so. He let his eyes travel down the slope of her nose to the outline of her lips. He was absolutely enamoured by the girl, and had been for a few months. He could never get the words right to say to her and from what he had heard from other guys who confessed, he didn’t think he wanted to. He jumped out of his thoughts as the girl’s face was extremely close to his. (Y/n) began to laugh, sitting back down in her seat.

“T-the look on your face! Oh that was priceless. You practically jumped out of your pants!” she laughed harder, snorting as she bang her fist on the table. After a few seconds, she looked over at the taller boy tilting her head in confusion at his lack of words. “Neville, are you alright?” her eyes looked down as he gripped her hand in his own.

“Listen (Y/n) I know you don’t do love but I just need to say this. I...I like you. I’m absolutely entranced by every part of you and it did start out as physically, I’ll admit but it wouldn’t feel right having you be the only one who didn’t know. I’m smitten with you and everyone knows it.” he spoke softly, looking down at his empty plate on the table. His face flushed as she tilted his head to face her, his expression filled with confusion.

“You’re right. I don’t do love. However,” she tightened her grasp on his hand stroking his cheek, “I think we have the potential to have far more than that. Something greater than lo-love.” Neville’s face was overtaken in shock at the girl’s revelation. (Y/n) smiled before leaning over and leaving a kiss on his cheek.

She may not be the type to do love, but this was definitely something she could get used to.

#neville longbottom x reader #neville x you #neville x reader #neville longbottom x y/n #neville x y/n #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #neville longbottom imagine

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

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The Other Her [S. Snape]

warnings - angst, unrequited love (oh the horror) pairings - severus snape x reader synopsis - Severus Snape had two friends while he was at school. One, every body knew as Lily Evans. The other was you, an unknown student who wanted nothing more than to be noticed by your friend. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to the Gryffindor heartthrob every time he mentioned her name. a/n - TikTok saw this idea first. Yes, I have a TikTok and yes I made a Severus Snape pov based on this song. But now I’m going to write it because I can do what I want. Thank you all for your patience with me!

~~~

You knew that being friends with Severus Snape meant being friends with Lily Evans. It was a prerequisite. Still, you found yourself shocked that even when she wasn’t around, her name was always brought up.

Sitting with Severus in the library as you attempted to study, you rolled your eyes as he mentioned her for the fifth time since she went to class. Your hand tightened around your pencil as you fought back the urge to lay him out flat if he said the word “Lily” one more time.

“The other day,” he started, staring down at the book he wasn’t really reading. “Lily and I-”

“Sev!” Your voice was strained as you attempted to keep yourself quiet. “I’m sorry, but I really have to revise for this exam. If I don’t pass....”

“You’re right, y/n.” He straightened himself and looked at the book with more determination. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed and tried to focus, but all you could think about was the way he smiled when he talked about her, or the way his eyes glimmered when they were together, or the way he barely laughed when they were apart.

It was impossible not to compare yourself to her. The way her long, red hair shone underneath the sunlight, her green eyes as kind as they were fierce. She stood up for others and she skipped through the halls. She smelled like cherry blossoms and summertime and cinnamon. Lily Evans was an incredibly talented witch, top of almost all of her classes, but she always had time to take care of her friends and dance in the rain.

She was everything a boy could possibly want.

You, in your own mind, were not.

Every time you passed her in the halls, she would wave and smile, knowing you as Severus’ other friend. She was proud of him for branching out and meeting knew people, but it was rare that she ever actually saw you. Her attention was almost always on Severus and his was always on hers.

I still remember the third of December Me in your sweater you said it looked better on me than it did you only if you knew, how much I liked you

A chill ran down your spine as you and Sev walked back from Hogsmeade, trudging through the snow. You had spilled Butterbeer on your sweater and then it was completely ruined when James Potter and Sirius Black decided that then was the best time to pick on your friend.

Defending Severus always meant putting yourself in the hot seat. You didn’t mind too much, but once your sweater was completely ruined by their onslaught of mud filled snowballs, not even your thick skin could warm you up enough.

“You want my sweater?” Sev asked, his arm brushing against yours as you walked.

“I’m alright, thank you,” you said to him and tried to smile. He raised an eyebrow in your direction and you sighed. “Fine.”

He pulled the green sweater off over his head and your heart skipped a beat. He loved that sweater. In the winter months, it was rare to see him without it.

“I’m sorry they ruined yours,” he said as he handed it over to you. You took it with grateful hands and a hidden smile before pulling it over your head.

Your heart thrummed in your chest as you walked beside him, enveloped in one of the few things he valued. And it smelled like him; the musk of the dungeons, the smell of spices and herbs and plants that he could name but you couldn’t, the slight twinge of burnt yarn from all his time spent bent over his cauldron flames.

Every part of you wanted to reach out and take his hand in yours, to show him that you were going to be there for him through everything, that you didn’t care where he came from or the things that had hurt him, that he was the most important person to you and you wanted nothing else than to spend the rest of your life with him.

But I watched your eyes as she walks by what a sight for sore eyes brighter than the blue sky she’s got you mesmerized

You thought Lily had gone home for the winter. She had a place to go in the winter months, a family to spend the Christmas holidays with. You and Sev did not. You spent your weeks at the school, revising for class, going to Hogsmeade, practicing potions. It was the time you valued most because Lily wasn’t there and Sev didn’t seem overcome by her absence.

But apparently not this winter.

“There’s Lily!” Sev said as you sat in the Great Hall. You whipped your head around to see the red-head, laughing with one of her friends. Your smile dropped at the sight of her.

“I...I didn’t know she was staying,” you said.

“Me neither,” Sev replied and you could hear his smile in his voice.

“She looks good.” You finally looked back at him and elbowed him gently. He tips of his cheeks reddened slightly and your stomach churned. He knew you knew that he liked her and you knew that if you didn’t tease him about it, he would know that you liked him, so you played along.

“She always looks good,” he muttered to himself, trying to look like he wasn’t paying attention.

“Yeah.” You looked away from him and back at Lily once again.

while I die

You were just being stupid. That’s what you told yourself. There was no reason to ruin a perfectly good friendship with Severus, your only friendship, actually, just because you got butterflies every time he looked your way or you felt your pulse quicken every time his hand brushed yours when you walked side by side. That was just the hormones. You’d be over it in a few months and everything would go back to the way it was.

So, why did it hurt so much? Why did you stay awake at night, staring blankly at the drapes above your head while sleep evaded you? Why did tears run from your eyes no matter how hard you fought them back?

You fell asleep to the dull ache of a knife being driven deeper and deeper into your chest.

You were just being stupid.

Watch as she stands with her holding your hand Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

You tightened your jaw to the point where it was almost painful. Sitting across the courtyard, a book in your hand, you watched as Severus hoisted Lily into the air. Both of them laughed loudly, as if sharing a secret together that you would never know.

It killed you inside because you knew she didn’t like him in any way other than a friend and he loved her. And he didn’t like you in any way other than a friend and you loved him.

A vicious cycle. No one would come out on top.

Still, the stone bench was colder when you were alone.

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel

There was something about Lily that made everyone love her. And that something was rather simple; she was kind. There was not a single soul that she did not pour her love and affection into.

The times she talked to you even she listened intently. She asked questions about your studies and your home life and if things were going better than they were the last time you talked. It never felt like small talk with your best friend’s best friend. It was almost as if she actually cared.

And she actually cared for everyone she came across. Every first year, every Slytherin, every house elf, every teacher, every creature.

The only time you didn’t see her smiling was when she was telling someone off for picking on Sev or performing a rather powerful hex.

Aside from being the kindest person you had ever laid eyes on, she was equally as powerful of a witch. There was no one you knew who knew their way around a wand as well as Lily. Even some of the professors seemed to be outmatched by her. It was frustrating and awe inspiring at the same time so see her cast spells so naturally, so casually, when you struggled to even produce some of the simpler spells.

Even then, Lily was willing to help you out. She took time out of her busy day to help tutor you. The grades you had now were because of her and her dedication to you.

How could you possible hate her when she was such a kind and wonderful person?

But then again, kinda wish she were dead

You couldn’t help but think that your life would be so much easier without her in it. If she had just been a normal muggle, every thing would have been different. She wouldn’t have run into Sev, she wouldn’t have started talking to him, she wouldn’t have come to Hogwarts. Everything would be fine and he would be yours.

But there she was, laughing and happy and just all around a wonderful person. And Sev was still in love with her.

You hated her and you hated yourself for it.

why would you ever kiss me? I’m not even half as pretty

It was weird when the three of you went out to Hogsmeade together. This time in particular. Sev was wearing his favorite green sweater again and Lily was wearing her favorite pair of boots that made her legs look longer. Her beautiful red hair was up in a ponytail, pieces framing her face. The snow on the ground somehow made her green eyes greener.

And there you were, walking a few paces behind the, silent. Sev elbowed her in the side as she laughed. You weren’t surprised when you finally got him to admit he liked her. Sure, you had already known about it for so long, but the confirmation still hurt.

Why wouldn’t he like her? With her long hair and her green eyes and her brilliant smile, you would be surprised if half the school wasn’t in love with her.

You looked nothing like her. Your hair was unruly and always messy and you never knew what to do with it. Your eyes didn’t shine and glimmer and glow in the light like hers did. Your smile wasn’t easy and perfect and wonderful. Everything that she had, you didn’t have.

It made you feel shallow to care so deeply about looks, but you couldn’t help yourself.

‘It’s not her fault she’s beautiful,’ you told yourself as you watched the two of them walk ahead. ‘I can’t hate her just because she’s prettier than me. It’s not her fault and it’s not mine.’

You gave her your sweater It's just polyester But you like her better

Walking out of Honeydukes with a bag full of candy, you felt your heart drop out of your chest and into your stomach.

Sev was pulling off his sweater and handing it off to Lily, who stood there with a smile as she shivered. Tears gathered in your eyes, biting your skin as the cold air blew against them. That was the one thing you had to hold onto, that he had given you his most beloved sweater that one day in the cold. But now she was wearing it too and, Merlin’s Beard, the oversized green sweater looked better on her than it ever would you.

You walked up to them as you shook away your tears. You could cry about it later. For now, you had to keep your wits about you.

“Thank you, Sev,” she said, pulling on the long sleeves to cover her trembling hands.

“Of course,” he replied with his usual sheepish smile.

“I’ll give it back once we get to the castle.”

“Keep it,” he said. Your heart plummeted even further. “Looks better on you than anyone else.”

You couldn’t stand around any longer. You had to get out before your emotions took you over completely. Dropping the bag of sweets into the snow, you turned around and pushed your way through the crowd of students. As soon as your back was to them, the tears in your eyes overcame your willpower and you started to cry.

Arms crossed and head down, you ignored Lily and Sev calling your name, hoping beyond hope to just disappear into the crowd before either of them could catch up to you.

You walked back to the castle by yourself, hoping to find some place to be alone and just let it all out. If you cried about it now, maybe all your feelings would leave with your tears and you wouldn’t like him anymore and you could just be his friend without wanting to hold his hand all the time.

“It’s just a stupid sweater,” you whispered to yourself as you hid in a bathroom stall. “Just a stupid sweater.”

No matter how many times you repeated those words to yourself, you still couldn’t stand to look either of them in the face. You knew Sev’s schedule well enough to know how to avoid him between classes. You didn’t know where Lily would be at any given time of the day, but whispers came before her and followed after her, so it was pretty easy to tell when she was coming your way. It was easy enough to skip meals and sneak into the kitchens to grab something every now and again.

It was almost a week later that you finally accidentally ran into Sev on your way to class.

“Sorry!” You said before even realizing who it was.

“y/n!”

You snapped your head up, eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. You spun around quickly to run in the other direction, but he reached a hand out to grab hold of your wrist. When he turned you around to face him, your heart began to pound wildly in your chest, roaring like an ocean in your ears.

“What’s been up with you?” He asked. “You’ve been avoiding me for days.”

“I have to go to class,” you said hurriedly, trying to step around him. He moved in front of you again.

“Talk to me, y/n.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Then why are you avoiding me? Lily and I are worried-”

“I don’t want to talk about her.” Your voice deepened, dangerously low. Sev looked taken aback.

“Did she do something to you? I’ll talk to her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to-”

“You gave her your sweater,” you said finally. You screwed your eyes shut tight so you didn’t have to look at the way he reacted. It felt stupid and saying it out loud sounded stupid, but it still hurt all the same.

“It’s just a sweater,” he said. You opened your eyes and a wave of calm suddenly passed over you. You shook your head before looking down at your hands.

“You know it’s not just a sweater, Sev. That’s your favorite sweater and you gave it to her like it was nothing.”

“You’ve been ignoring me because I gave her my sweater?” It was clear that he wasn’t understanding.

“I’ve been ignoring you because I’ve been in love with you for months and you’re too thick to notice because you’ve only got eyes for her and I just want to be rid of these feelings so we can go back to being friends, alright?”

Your voice rose without you meaning to. You were sick of dancing around it. You just needed him to know so maybe you could let it go.

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that he hadn’t even thought of the possibility. His cheeks tinted red, his mouth parted in confusion and shock. You let out a bitter laugh as you watched the ground carefully.

“Make sense to you now?”

“y/n, I-”

“I really need to get to class,” you told him, stepping around him again. This time, he didn’t try to stop you.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“I’d rather not.”

“I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

You watched him carefully, the way his gaze was fixed on the floor, how his hands tensed at his side, how his lips twitched ever so slightly. You gave him your best, soft smile, knowing that it compared nothing to Lily’s.

“You won’t,” you said finally. With that, you turned and walked to your class, feeling worse than you had the night before. Because now you couldn’t avoid them anymore, which meant you couldn’t avoid your feelings anymore. Now you had to be his friend despite him knowing how you felt and every time the three of you were around each other, the fact of your feelings would hang around in the air like weight against all of your shoulders. Everything was going to change.

I wish I were Heather

Maybe you didn’t want Lily dead. That would make Sev inconsolable. He would never recover. Maybe there was something else you wanted. Some other way, in some made up world, that you could be the one that he loved. If you were Lily, if you had been Lily from day one, Sev would love you then.

But you didn’t want to be Lily either. She got too much attention. You didn’t need everyone else’s attention, just his. You didn’t want to be Lily, but you wanted to be where she was in his heart. Whatever piece of his soul was tied so tightly to hers, you wanted that place. And there was no way you were ever going to get it.

#severus snape #severus snape imagine #snape imagine #young snape #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #harry potter x reader #snape x reader #snape angst #heather #song fic #i just really love snape #you can pry my love for him out of my cold dead hands #idk if it's snape appreciation week yet #but this week im appreciating snape #marauders era

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